Prior to arriving in Cardiff, Wales I really had no idea at all what to expect. Positively unusual for me, I did little to no research on Cardiff. I imagined some things of course…a museum or two, pubs and restaurants, maybe even Welsh rarebit.
What I did not envision, however, were tattoo and piercing shops EVERYWHERE. It is with little exaggeration that on the main strip of street in Cardiff, there is a tattoo and piercing shop in every other building.
While on vacation, a lot of ideas seem really intriguing. After visiting several of Cardiff’s exquisite bars, I can safely say that the idea of getting a piercing as my Welsh souvenir seemed especially intriguing.
And so I did it.
Thrice Upon a Time.
The third time’s the charm, and from this experience, I can tell you this sentiment especially rings true when one gets one’s nose pierced.
The first time I had my nose punctured, I was a freshman in college taking advantage of “free piercing week,” at a local tattoo shop. I liked the idea of free piercings so much, I also went back to get a lip ring. [Flash forward to my mother giving me 24 hours notice that she would be visiting me, and my room-mate is pouring me vodka shots to numb the pain of her boyfriend pulling my two-part lip ring out in time for mom’s arrival.]
I kept the nose ring, however, until I began to interview for a job as a teacher. Pulling it out wound up being a waste of effort, as my school is awesome and cares not that teachers have piercings and tattoos.
The second time, I got the nose piercing done RIGHT before traveling to Southeast Asia. I swam in muddy water in Thailand and neglected to clean my piercing entirely before it became infected and I had to eventually yank it out in Laos.
Why would the third time be different? Well, I was in an altered state of mind, and the spirit of revolution and rebellion burned within me.
You see, Nina and I are lovers of revolutionary history. We started the day off as a joke that we would encourage the people of Wales to break away from the United Kingdom. Everywhere we went, we waved our Wales flags proudly and interviewed people about their feelings regarding being an autonomous country. The more we drank, the more ridiculous this became. Nobody was safe from our inquiry. The bartenders, the souvenir shop owner, and apparently, not our piercing professional.
I sat in front of a questionnaire and warning sheet that I barely took the time to read. What a splendid way to remember Cardiff by getting an ultimate Welsh souvenir! Are you under the influence of alcohol? Yes, very much, but I’ll circle no. Are you pregnant? I actually WAS but had no idea at the time, so I circled no.
I thought the drinks we had prior would have numbed me a bit, they absolutely did not. Despite having been down this road two times prior, I was in a world of pain that I don’t even remember experiencing. My nostril was stretched like Gumby, and the most giant needle — a thick one too — was stabbed through my thick skin. My eyes watered heavily and I really thought my nose might get pulled off from my face.
After a few brief moments of torture, nose piercing number three, my ultimate Welsh souvenir, was in place. I stared in the mirror shocked — I couldn’t believe I had done something so randomly. I almost never do anything on a whim. See, this is what happens when you don’t plan properly for a trip…you wind up piercing your face!
My cousin went next, which is bad-ass considering she watched my body thrash around on the table while I got mine done. (Then again she’s suffered the pain of countless tattoos and rides motorcycles – so I shouldn’t be surprised!)
Voila! We were ten times edgier than when we arrived.
But, how would I explain such a decision and my Welsh souvenir to my family? My husband? Was I really going to say, “I had a few martinis and it seemed like a solid idea.”
This was something I had to drink on. And so I did.
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