Belly ring

Like I said…some adventures just SCREAM to be included in a blog, e.g., removing a belly ring. It’s one thing to be the only accountant at the office pool party with a belly ring. It’s another thing to be the only “invitee” at the G-7 summit in Rio to have a belly ring. The fact that eighty percent of you reading this are thinking…"Maeve still has that ridiculous belly ring?" only emphasizes the point.

I understand that you SHOULD be able to just unscrew a belly ring. But despite about two years of effort, I could NOT get the bastard out. What does it say about me that I can’t even figure out how to unscrew a belly ring? I am in the lower 10 percentile of belly ring wearers?!?!? And yet still the smartest McC =)=) [double smiley face]

Which brings us to minor surgery 101. You know what’s better than getting your belly ring pierced when you’re young, foolish and drunk? Getting it taken out when you’re old, foolish and sober. I do have to hand it to my medicinal friends…what they won’t come across with in prescriptions, they are HAPPY to contribute in antiseptics. All we needed was a surgical element. I was hoping to use something from the Williams Sonoma collection…so imagine my anxiety when the garage door (!) went up. Instead of Williams Sonoma, I got the ONLY non-pristine element in all of Rita’s house. Remember that Twilight Zone movie where they methodically cut off fingers with a used, rusted stem-cutter when the bettors couldn’t light the lighter? Well…somehow…Rita ended up with the props from that movie and decided to use it on my belly ring.

Let’s just avoid the #&$^#$ cuss words and say the home remedy was unsuccessful. So after cerrating the damn thing to a fine point on three-quarters of the perimeter, we set out on a cultural tour of SD’s underbelly to find a tattoo parlor. Oddly…the underbelly was largely within walking distance of Rita’s house…

The FIRST tattoo parlor…honest-to-god…was closed on account of “infestation”. Did I mention SOBER?? The SECOND tattoo parlor [how often do any of you get to say “the SECOND tattoo parlor” on any given day!?!?] apologized profusely that their “piercing artist” was on sabbatical [rehab?]. Finally…the THIRD tattoo parlor said “sure – come on back”. 20 seconds later it was all over. It would have been smooth as silk if not for the aforementioned cerrating.

But the trip did give Rita a chance to get my name tattoo’d on her ass. =) =) =)