Wah wah – another post about getting old. But it really isn’t… or well, it sort of is but I’m not necessarily complaining. Am I making any sense here?
Back in in the summer of 1998 – when body piercings were at the height of all things cool and rebellious (especially if you were an 18 year old!), I got my navel pierced.
You read that correctly. A lot of my friends were getting their tongues pierced and I just couldn’t stomach the idea of doing that (plus my dad made a casual comment one day that the only reason girls get their tongues pierced is for oral sex… and OH.MY.GOD. try scrubbing that conversation out of your brain… and you can understand why I never got it done).
My friend, a rebel with her tongue pierced, took me to a piercing place and bought me a navel piercing for my 18th birthday. I’m still laughing as I type this out. I was such a wimp that I had to be forced to get it done.
And it hurt like a bitch.
And then it got infected (because it rubbed against my pants).
I finally reached a point where it was no longer infected and it no longer hurt. And dammit – the pain from getting it done and dealing with an infection resonated with me and I kept the damn thing in for nearly 12 years.
Keep in mind that I didn’t sport crop top shirts to show off the piercing. This is mostly because I’m not that kind of girl and because I don’t have the super flat Victoria Secret/Playboy stomach. In fact, I used to joke that my belly button looked like it was eating the piercing (because my belly button was shaped more like a mouth as opposed to a circle due to actually having body fat in my abdomen).
As I’m rounding out my 20s and with the thoughts of maybe someday getting knocked up, I thought it was time to let it go.
I’ve been talking about taking it out for the last 2 years and just never took the plunge. Apparently my body thought I was acting like a turd and it decided to push it out for me.
2 weeks ago, I realized that the end of the ring was missing. But still, I kept the thing in because I still wasn’t ready to let it go.
Last week, I noticed that it fell completely out (I saw the ring on the floor). But still, I picked it up and thought I’d just put it back in.
That same day, the ring disappeared.
So I received a subtle sign to let go (the end piece falling off), then a not so subtle sign (the ring falling out) to a big FUCK YOU, LET IT GO (the ring disappearing).
And as lame as this sounds, I’m a little sad. I’ve been so used to seeing it that it just looked weird. Not to mention the extra hole I have above my belly button.
I guess I’m easing into adulthood.