Turkey's Done!
Sorry.
However, if you were searching for a post about suburban-mom-belly-piercings, read on! And, once you've figured out how to cook your turkey (something, regrettably, I cannot help you with), please feel free to return back to this blog for some light-hearted entertainment while your bird bakes.
Thank you.
I got my navel pierced as a 39-month anniversary present to Bee. He had mentioned a few months before that he thought one would look nice, and I finally thought, "Why not?" After all, it's not a permanent tattoo; I could just remove it if I didn't like it.
We made an event of it: on a beautiful spring Sunday, we packed nine-month-old Mr. C into the car and set off all together to the nearest tattoo/piercing parlor. We were giddy with excitement. I felt reckless and naughty; after all, I hadn't even gotten my ears pierced until I was 26. And here I was, a 30-year-old mother, getting my belly button done! My mother would be appalled! What a rebel! What a sinner!
We discovered, however, that it's very hard to sin in our town on a Sunday. The first three tattoo parlors were closed. The third wouldn't open for two more hours. But we finally found a place that was open and ready for disfigurement immediately!
I've had my piercing now for two years, and I kind of like it. It's never fully healed, however; it's fine all winter, but -- as soon as the weather warms -- the ring gets infected. I went back to the parlor to ask about that little side effect, but I was told it really wasn't a bad infection.
My ring amuses me too much to want to remove it at this point. Also, it has an unforeseen bonus: it gets infected when I gain too much weight. I suppose that's a result of my fat storing itself first in my gut. So, although the infection is a little annoying, I view my navel ring as my own, personal indicator that it's time to lay off the pound cake. My ring is just like that little button that pops up on my Thanksgiving turkey to let me know it's done.
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