Wednesday, June 20, 2007

*stomach churning*

First, here is what I have growing in my yard. Thank you, Dollar Store! My pink and white gladiolas from last summer are amazing this summer. You must drive by my house to enjoy.

And now for the stomach churning....
May 11th, 1987
Dear Tippy, (name of my mom's childhood dog)
I got my ears pierced today. BAAAAARRRRFFFFF!
First, the earrings were soaked in alcohol, same as my ears.
Second the doctor marked 2 x's on my ears.
Third (very barf), He (ugh) took a needle and screwed it through my ears. It didn't hurt that much but I really winced at it.
THEN, he threaded another needle and ran it through my ear. OUCH!
Then he stuck the earring in. YOWCH! My earlobe is so fat! I almost barfed I was so nervous. I had to lay down. Dr. Sugden took my pulse. I must have been white. I couldn't keep steady for a while. It was THIRTY bucks!

Daddy is in a very bad mood just because he didn't get dinner in the living room. He got all pissy, threw pans on the floor, stomped all over the place, threw out a lot of pictures and one of his photo albums from the Navy.
Good lord.

Let's remember, my parents said it was this way or no piercing.So, my mom sat in the doctor's office, with her hands over her face, because she was unable to watch me be tortured. I didn't write what the second needle and thread did. He pulled it back and forth to make the hole a little bigger for the earrings. Even now, my stomach is doing flipflops remembering how it felt. Believe it or not, worse is yet to come in The Earring Saga.

Needless to say, when I got the other 6 holes done, it was at the mall, sans parental consent (it was the 80's). It took my dad 6 months to realize I had gotten more earrings.

As for the finale of this diary entry, I looked up emotional abuse, but it doesn't fit what happened. This stomping and yelling and freaking out over minor things was a weekly event for a while. Who knows what was really wrong?
We Walkers are pretty strong-willed. When we're pissed off, we are PISSED OFF. For example, when Tom broke my heart into a million billion pieces, I didn't speak to him for 4 months, even though we saw eachother each weekend at The Model. He spoke to my roommate and friends, but I totally ignored him, even if we were both waiting for drinks at the bar. Finally, I got over him and was cordial again.

You gotta watch out for we quiet short people. There's a lot of malice simmering inside, and not just from the brutal way our ears were first pierced.

1 comment:

maitai said...

you better believe that shit about us short people being spitfires! i am filled with anger!