Oh, you STUD!

People with piercings intimidate me. From preteens with little gold hearts, to frat boys with one dangling cross, to ultra-chic chicks with drizzles of chains and hoops, to infant girls with diamond studs. It's as if they all successfully were initiated into a group where I was never welcome and had no place to seek entry to begin with. Sure, I got my ears pierced on one wild afternoon with my buddies at the mall, but it didn't last. Seems the young woman who punched throbbing holes into my tender lobes misfired her gun ... I had diagonal entries through my ears that ached and bled anytime I attempted to wear anything through them. I now find myself an outsider to the earring-wearin' crowd, gaping longfully at the jewelry counters sporting cute matched sets, dreaming of how my long neck and shoulder-length hair would be accented just right with something unique and sparkly.

It was not meant to be.

Recently, I had the luxury of checking out a nearby Day Spa. The dim lights, the New Age music featuring a waterfall and tinkling bells, the slightly heady aroma of patchouli ... allured me in a way nothing has since before my children were born. I asked for a flier of their prices, and over strolls a buxom lovely replete with low-cut blouse and numerous necklaces and bracelets ("the modern Madonna-wanna-be?" I ask myself). She handed me their flier, then asked me to pause while she busied herself writing something. I hesitated, bathing in the undisturbed peace of a carefree outing sans infant. Then the young lady handed me "her card" promising 10% off my first massage, provided by her own skilled hands. As I smiled and thanked her, she smiled back, eyes twinkling and mouth agape -- which is when I noticed the tongue stud. Visions of a tongue-studded seductress man-handling the bare landscape of my ne'er-before massaged skin, I almost tripped over myself heading out the door! I'll never return there again.