Okay, I am breaking my vow of silence with a quick word about nose piercings.
Aka, I got one.
Ever since I was fourteen, I've wanted very badly to get my nose pierced ---nothing flashy, just a little rhinestone in the middle of my face, you know--- and each conversation with my mother on the subject went something like this (abridged version):
"Mom, can I get my nose pierced."
"Over my dead body!"
"Fine then. I'll do it when I'm in college."
"NO YOU WILL NOT."
As I have been slowly coming to the realization lately that I am actually in college, It occurred to me a few weeks ago that I am theoretically at liberty (or at least, if not imbued with divine right, obliged by the very nature of my status as a college freshman) to get pierced, tatooed, dyed, or otherwise foolishly decked in the fruits of postmodern body choice. As it were, I opted to be tame and forego getting the word "Mommy" dyed into my arm and instead, celebrate my nineteenth birthday by planting a piece of jewelry in my left nostril.
Of course, even though I had had intentions to get this done for weeks leading up to my birthday, on the day of, I hemmed and hawed throughout the entire day; once faced with the prospect of walking around with a piece of metal in my face, having someone stab me (albeit clinically) with a hollow needle, and having to face the potential disapproval of my mother were the major factors dissuading me from seeking the boho-coolness of a piercing. However, about half an hour before the piercing studio closed, I was struck with the thought that, beyond the very practical issues surrounding this decision, piercing my nose was about body choice and therefore life choice, about having the power to make a bold decision concerning an element that presents me to the rest of the world: my face. This was a decision, unlike the hugely controversial ones regarding college, or the minute ones involving where I will eat dinner each night, that I could, and would, make entirely on my own and completely in the service of my own wiles. And there's an amazing power in the ability to say "hey, this is something I want, and I want it enough not to really care what other people think." No matter how free-spirited or culturally autonomous I like to think I am, the fact remains that I do care too much about how the small decisions I make about my life will affect others' opinions of me and therefore the nature of our relationships. So I did it. And, big surprise: my relationships with the people I love, or my outlook on life, or the respect I seem to get from people, has not been affected. Even my mom, when I told her, was surprisingly enthusiastic and accepting of the notion that my nostrils have wandered their way out of her jurisdiction.
As it turned out, the piercing itself didn't hurt all that much, either. The owner of the shop, a long-haired, ex-hobo from Houston Street, was friendly, efficient, professional, and so quick that I barely even realized that I had been officially pierced until it was over.
A small triumph.
