A lesson learned
Case in point, I painted my bedroom Bubbalicious Purple. Yummy. They say purple is the color of royalty. I, being the princess I am, would have to disagree.
Example #2, when the lady down the road asked if I wanted to work at her greenhouse, without any hesitation (or thought) I agreed. After all, wasn't it so nice of her to think of me? Yes, yes it was. But perhaps shoveling mounds of dirt and packing hundred pounds of flower pots around a greenhouse, all for minimum wage, is not the best way to cope with grief. If I want to function like anything other than a zombie, afterwards.
But the best example, and the reason for this post, is my nose piercing. Because I am a hip, cool mommy, I ran out and had someone stick a needle through my nose. And for the pleasure of that searing pain, I paid them a hundred smackeroos. If I was younger, I would have used my mom's sewing needle, a potato and my best girlfriend. See the wisdom I have gained with age?
The nose piercing wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It healed nicely and rather quickly too, and after my intitial urge to constantly pick my nose, I kind of forgot about it. The hubs loved the pretty little stud and my kids thought I was the coolest mom out there. So this loss of impulse control actually worked out well. Right, dear internet?
But being the fool I am, I couldn't leave well enough alone. Cuz I am nothing if not a twit. On Saturday I was back at the scene of the crime. I had every intention of just buying a different stud, this time maybe a more sparkly one, to put in my newly healed nose. But even tattoo and piercing artists are salesmen at heart. And the chicky who was working the till had so many holes in her face that if you hooked her up to a hose she would have been a mighty fine sprinkler for your lawn. She talked me out of the pretty girly stud and into a brutish, garish 16 gauge nose ring. Like a bull, baby.
So, seeing as how a sucker is born every second, I agreed. She led me back into the pit of pain, where I awaited a piercer to insert the ring for me. How bad could it be, right? After all, the hole is already there. You see my faulty logic here? Well, to be fair, putting the ring in didn't hurt that much to begin with. But after the piercer tugged, pulled, squeezed and picked my precious nose, things got a little tender. But we women know there is a price to pay for vanity. And really, this was no worse than waxing my grass. If you know what I mean...
Have you ever beat your self with a hair brush after some thing didn't turn out so well? If so, Welcome to my World. A world where there is always room for more idiots. Well, my quota for self-mutilation was full, so I put the hair brush down, but now I am stuck with this clunky ring which makes my hubs laugh his ass off. He keeps threatening to attach my new puppy's leash to it and well, lead me around by the nose. Funny. He so did not get laid this weekend.
The moral of this story is, think before you act ladies. Or else you too, could be sporting a slightly infected, red bulbous nose to which a leash will attach to. And for you gentlemen, there is a lesson for you too. Keep your mouth shut, don't tell your lady she looks like your prize winning 4H bull, and you may get lucky. And for the love of all things holy, leave the leash alone!
**I really am that blue. It's not just the computer screen glow, it's our Canadian water...