Pansy Ass No more!

Earlier this year I turned 30. This wasn't a big deal to me. I, in fact, must have pissed off God when I toasted that 30 would be my best year yet. A month later, and tragedy struck. Who's laughing now? In the aftermath of grief, I have been possessed by an uncontrollable urge to permanently mark my body with tattoo. I wish for the whole world to know I had an angelboy. There are problems with this plan though. I am the biggest pansy-ass I know. And having someone scrape needles across my skin while injecting a permanent dye just sounds painful. And you have to pay for the joy of that pain as well. I am nothing if not frugal.

Another problem to the tattoo dilemma would be dear hubby. He is adamantly opposed to the idea of a tattoo on my lovely, neon-white flesh. Apparently, my freckles and the odd mole, are sexy to him. Who knew?

What to do, what to do? Aha! I will pierce myself, said the foolish Redneck mommy. It is pretty and I can take it out. Not permanent, but isn't over the top. But what do I pierce? My husband voted for a tongue piercing, something about being extremely erotic during a certain sexual activity. But having my tongue swell up, sounding like Daffy Duck and not being able to enjoy my java for weeks nixed that idea.

He then suggested marring my nipples. I told him if he did his, I'd do mine. That conversation ended rather quickly. I may be a pansy ass, but he is also my lovable chicken-shit.

My kiddies suggested having my nose pierced. Now, I have never been one to stew over the shape and size of my nose. I figure it could have been worse. I could have a huge nose instead of the slightly crooked one I am sporting. In fact, I have a rather healthy self image. Due in part to my lovely husband who keeps telling me I rock and due in part to the fact that I look nothing like any of my cousins. Hallelujah!! Seriously dear internet, my larger breasted, shorter legged brethren are well, furry, with honkers the likes of which no man should ever have to blow. Like their parents bred with apes and elephants - at the same time. And somehow only the women have facial hair. And a lot of it. Puzzling. So I have always kissed God's ass, thankful for my smallish nose, and for the fact that I need a scarf to keep my face warm during our long Canadian winters, unlike my cousins.

Could I pierce my face? Could I handle the pain? Would it look good on my slightly pointy, crooked nose?

Yes to all three. I am here to tell you I am no longer a pansy ass. And I now have an extra nostril hole to breathe out of when the other two are clogged.

But nobody told me it would feel like the worlds biggest booger. Or how I would want to pick it. Bugger!