The One Where Amy Finds Herself In A Tattoo And Body Piercing Establishment

Most of the time I'm a pretty confident person. I don't care much what people think of me. I'm not super insecure. Most of the time.

One of my indulgences, in the I-will-stay-young-forever category, was getting my nose pierced after Hannah was born. I didn't care if people thought I was too old. I didn't care if no one liked it. I was even offered a job after I got it done and I told them I'd only take it if I could keep my nose ring.

I've been rocking the nose ring for five years now. Usually no one comments on it. Every now and then an older person will quietly tell me that I have something stuck to my face, only to be embarrassed when they realize it's jewelry.

Last Sunday I got a new nose ring. I took the old one out, took a shower and went to put the new one in. And I couldn't get it in.

Pain.

Lots of pain.

I tried EVERYTHING, including sterilizing a thumb tack and trying to shove that through my nose.

No dice.

So, that's how I found myself in a tattoo shop on a weekday afternoon, feeling self conscious and wondering what people were thinking about me.

Because I am so not hard core. I am a regular, everyday, average person that looks comfortable in Target, or on the playground or at the library. But there I was, in a tattoo shop, asking them fix my nose ring mess.

Trying my hardest to not look like a late-30-something-stay-at-home-mom I walked back to the piercing room with a super hard core guy sporting not one but two nose rings and some amazing dreadlocks (and probably some tattoos I couldn't see under his super cool clothes).

I glanced down to see that I was wearing a black hoodie, jeans and black boots. Not bad.

I sat in the chair and didn't talk about anything middle-age-momish. I didn't cry when he put something called a taper through my nose-ring-hole. (And, it's looked like what it sounds like... a long, tapered piece of metal that, when jammed into a piercing, can stretch it out for a bit. Painful.)

I said thanks, paid, and went out to my car.

I don't know why it mattered so much to me... what they thought... what they may have thought... what kind of image I was projecting. I wasn't uncomfortable being in the tattoo shop, just about how I looked in the tattoo shop and what the super cool people in there were thinking of me. I knew I was being ridiculous but I didn't care. I just remember that I was proud of myself all the way home. I'd stepped into another world and didn't fall flat on my face.

I was still patting myself on the back when I walked in the front door, took off my coat and, for the first time, looked down at my shirt. I froze for a moment and my mouth fell open. Then I slowly peeled off the bright red and white ELEMENTARY SCHOOL PARENT VOLUNTEER!! name tag I'd needed earlier that morning and forgotten to take off.

I busted out laughing and remembered why I just don't care what people think of me. Because truthfully? I'm a fairly normal, relatively boring, 37-year-old-stay-at-home-mom with a nose ring. And I love it.