I will admit to having been out of the real estate business now for longer than I was in it back in the day. And back in that day, it seemed that the typical Realtor’s professional image was pretty strait-laced – most every colleague across the board had no visible ink or body piercings. My aversion to discomfort likely held me back from being a ground breaker in that regard.
Okay, I might be showing my wimpy side here, but I just can’t imagine willingly puncturing a fragile body part, simply for the sake of self-expression.
Not that I don’t agree with piercing, I just have a hard enough time wearing clip-on earrings, never mind poking holes to accommodate a hoop.
Not that I wear a lot of clip-on earrings either, but Halloween has foisted that experience onto me at least once over the years.
I admit that I may be a bit ultra-sensitive. I can’t even watch somebody putting in a pair of contact lenses. With my general lack of co-ordination, I’d sneeze just as my finger got close enough, and either blow the darn thing onto the bathroom mirror or miss entirely and have 20-20 vision in one of my nostrils.
Not so long ago, I insisted on having my gums frozen when I had my teeth cleaned. Sure, the dentist tried to convince me it would be fine, but after losing enough wrestling matches with my tongue, it was just faster and easier for him to play along.
However, as I would never agree to the frightening needle needed to administer the anesthetic, they would leave me alone with my cheeks full of ice cubes, until I was sufficiently dulled enough to proceed. Quickly.
You know, now that I think about it, I did accidentally experiment with body piercing once. I was leaving home one morning, and noticed my neighbour getting into his car. Being a fine Canadian neighbour, I waved a cheery, “Good morning” as he drove off.
As I was walking and waving, I failed to notice that I had missed a bit of the driveway. I also noticed (with some great alarm) that the driveway was rushing up to greet me, after I stumbled on an uneven intersection of pavement and lawn edge.
Attempting to stumble back to upright after my fall, I felt a pain in my left hand, and assumed that I had scraped the bejeebers out of it with some loose gravel.
Nope. What I did notice (before my knees buckled) was that my car key had inserted itself smack dab into the centre of my palm and had no immediate desire to leave.
My first thought was to call 911, so I staggered to my front door. This is when I realized my house keys were on the same ring as the impaled car key. If anybody had been watching, I can only imagine what they were thinking as I tried to twist my arm enough to open the front door.
Trapped, I had to make a judgment call. I couldn’t drive to the hospital with the car key inside my hand, and with no one else home, I had to bet that I could remove the key, then drive like a freakin’ bat out of hell to a doctor before I fainted.
Happily, and with the assistance of liberal amounts of glove-box napkins, I arrived at a walk-in clinic and gave the doctor on duty a new story to share with his colleagues.
I admire those of you who enjoy a good piercing now and then. I’ll pass, thanks.