May 25, 2006

I didn’t get my ears pierced until I turned 12. It was a long-awaited birthday present. The more I look back, the more I think Mum was not just paranoid, but prudish too. I think she’s changed or something. Anyway, on the long-awaited day, she took me to the local pharmacy where the girls rallied around with the scary gun thing, which in hindsight looked like one of those pneumatic injecty things in Star Trek or Lost. Not that they were actually letting me look at it. One girl drew her little target dots in texta on my lobes, then bang and bang and they were done and my ears felt really really hot and red.

Oh hang on I’m getting ahead of myself – I’ve skipped the trauma of the choosing of the studs. I wanted those ones with the fake birthstone in the middle, with a gold-coloured surround (I didn’t want my actual birthstone though, June is icky) no, I wanted green or blue or something, I don’t remember if I’d even decided. But Mum had decreed that an actual stone would be inappropriate for my tender age, so teeny tiny solid gold-coloured stars it was. They were so small, they were barely of a larger diameter than the post of the earring.

So the long-awaited punching bit was over. Next came the long wait to be able to take them out, so that I could put others in! I really wanted to wear sleepers, because they were cool, they showed that you’d had your ears pierced more than six weeks ago. Every day I carefully applied the magic healing solution (I think it was methylated spirits), and waited. The period of waiting coincided with a Pony Club camp. I remember some girl, identity long forgotten, asking me if I was applying the metho because the holes were infected. I was all like “No, this is what you’re supposed to do?!” Because I was all knowledgeable and shit.

Finally the long, six-week wait was over and I could take my earrings out, and hook in some dangly earrings (Mum had previously forbidden “dangly” earrings) but I had had a taste of glamour by this stage, and there was no stopping me. A year or two later, while in the city with my best friend, I got a second whole punched. Just in my left ear to begin with, to see what Mum would do. Her complaints weren’t too bad, so I evened it up with the right ear a few weeks later.

The novelty has totally worn off now, just short of sixteen years later (16! Am old!). Ear piercings aren’t scary or cool anymore. I don’t always wear earrings, because I don’t see the point, half the time. The other half, I do bother though. Now I just think some piercings are gross. My boyfriend’s sister got her lip pierced with a big ring a while back. Her mother freaked. And fair enough, it was pretty dumb, she’s got like a proper job and stuff, with customers, and it stopped her talking properly, and she’d done it while trashed. She quietly took it out and I think it’s all better now. Anyway there’s my reminiscence for the night. It’s my 28th birthday soon. Maybe to celebrate 16 years of ear-piercedy goodness I’ll buy some earrings worth bothering to wear to work?


2 Responses to “Earrings”

  1. Tracey Says:

    When’s your birthday then old fart? We’ll have to celebrate when we see you in June!

  2. phenotypic Says:

    You mean someone’s reading this stuff? Shit! It’s Friday the 23rd of June, and I believe you’ll be in Scotland or something, you jetsetter.

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