I have to confess: I like sparklies.

Ice. Rocks. A girl’s best friend. Among other precious stones.

So when I went to get my ears re-pierced, and was presented with the options of what to have reside on each side of my cranium for a couple of months… yeah, I probably shoulda gone with plain studs.

But… but… they were so prit-ty. Sigh.

I got my ears pierced in the late 70s, the same time my sister did, when my poor beleaguered father was undergoing treatment for his psoriatic arthritis.

At that time, gold injections were the gold standard (arf, arf) for reducing pain and inflammation from the disease, although it also left patients with kidney damage (some may recall Daddy was on peritoneal dialysis for a few years, which left me as a HUGE proponent of the method… if you or someone you love is on dialysis, PLEASE look into it.)

Anyway, my parents weren’t big fans of pierced ears (their close friends, who were parents of my best friend at the time, made no secret of their belief the practice was “barbaric”).

My teenage heart didn’t care. I wanted those earrings, and if my sister was getting them…

Our ultimate argument, which won the day, was “We want gold in our ears. You have gold in your ass. What’s the difference?”

After being roundly chastised for referring to my father’s back end in such an undignified manner, I was taken to the local mall where some young woman marked my ears with a Sharpie, asked me if they looked even (I was what, 14? Who can tell at that age?) and shot me twice with a piercing gun.

After years of not wearing earrings, inevitably one closed up and the other was close. However, in our travels, I’ve started buying rather nice (sparkly) earrings… but opening those holes again has been, I admit, a wee bit daunting.

“Just stick a needle through it! Here, I’ll do it!” Enthused my niece, who works in the medical profession, but in a lab rather than with patients.

Mmmmm. No, thank you. I want someone who really knows what they’re doing, and I sure don’t want to be shot with a gun again… what if they don’t quite hit the mark and I’m left with a torn up lug hole?

However, piercing studios intimidate me. Pushing 60, I do not look or meet their demographic. Nary a tat, skin that resembles a chicken that’s been in the fridge a few days too long, grey hair and I just have a rather not-hip vibe about me.

I’m back to my traveling lately… covid was dreadful, but it sure was a nice respite from my road warrior days. However, life finally resumed and I’m sitting in a hotel far more than at home of late. Soooo… to fill some alone time…

So I found myself in front of two young men working the desk at Sonoma County Piercing. Heavily tattooed with multiple piercings, they were very welcoming as I tentatively stepped in.

“We’ll need you to fill out a health questionnaire…” one said.

I snorted. Pregnant? If so, there’s a star rising in the east and camel shit on the front lawn…

They both barked with laughter. Ooops, I said that out loud.

After confessing to all my medications and lack of drug use, I was led over to the jewelry case. Ooooooooo. Those sparkle…

“Did you want cubic zirconia or diamonds?” Politely asked the young man.

My eyes narrowed. Cubic zirconia, the trailer trash of the jewelry world. You have diamonds?

Yup.

Mmmm. Quantos dineros?

$450. Each.

Mmmm. No getting away from the need for two. I’m not out to look lopsided. I’m also not out to spend quite that much.

There’s a smaller size… $275…

I do like the sparkles. And it’s a woman-owned small business, I’d be supporting the community. And I have to wear these for… wait, for how long?

“If we have to re-pierce you, four months.”

FOUR MONTHS?? Like, a third of a YEAR??

Um… yeah. I guess.

Gimme the sparkles.

It would be a far stretch to call them rocks. Rather more like granules. Whatever. For the amount I’m traveling at present, I’m making bank on the per diems and Beloved, bless her, was on board.

It was all very hygienic – everything sterilized and beautifully clean. I noticed the small lump of ice quietly melting on the tray with the other thingies (I don’t mind needles, but I’m not into admiring what I’m about to be stabbed with, either, so I didn’t look too closely.)

The… um… whaddo I call him? Piercer? Was as gentle as possible, but I would’ve appreciated a bit o’ that ice. Instead, all of a sudden I feel like I’m giving birth through my earlobe.

Granted, I’ve never actually given birth, we adopted our kids. However, that was the weirdest feeling (and quite uncomfortable) as he first broke through the skin and started wiggling the post or whatever it was through the remnants of the tunnel.

I sat there trying to convince myself this wasn’t a problem. After all, throughout time, women have passed a grapefruit sized object through their hoo-ha, surely I can handle a thin post through my ear’s collapsed piercing.

“Okay,” he said, “one more push…”

OW. OOOOWWWWWW…