Fat Tuesday

Yesterday was Fat Tuesday and I had a very indulgent, most festive night out with the girls. We feasted on escargot and sopped almost all of the buttery garlic up with the loaves of warm bread brought one after the other to our table. We washed that down with a couple bottles of good wine and then had a pizza with the works. There were laughs, toasts, tears and more laughs. It was just what I needed and then some.

When I set out for the night, I had it in my mind that I would make a detour to the tattoo parlor. The same shop where I got my second tattoo nearly ten years ago. That night was a girl's night too. It was my oldest (as in known and loved the longest) friend's bachelorette party and she is just not the type to tolerate the often tawdry antics of the "typical" bachelorette party so we got tattoos instead. Makes sense...wouldn't you agree? We all went under the needle...all of us including her aunt and even my Mom. I couldn't believe the bride-to-be actually did it because it was so against her constitution. I think she regretted her sweet little shamrock the next day, and by Monday morning I am quite sure she was ready to have it surgically removed...that is after her aunt blasted it over the local air waves. She tattooed and then told during her radio show for all to hear...and who happened to be listening, but her sister -the very conservative, good Catholic girl, disapproving mother-of-the-bride.

But I digress. Last night I drove by the quaint tattoo parlor only to find the little mall boarded up and abandoned. When did that happen?  I was disappointed - not because I was hoping for another tattoo. No, I was excited to get my ears pierced. Can you tell that I live dangerously? You see I had my ears pierced when I was a tween. Then my mother paid to have them surgically sewn shut when I was in college after I came home for a weekend visit with more than just a new boyfriend and dirty laundry. I was sporting a cleft ear and that is another story. She was sure that I would never get married in such a state. So yes, I have had plastic surgery...on my ear lobes.

Before my mother passed away, she gave me permission- or more like strict orders- to get my ears pierced again. She was finally over the $3,000 senseless surgery bill and she wanted me to be able to enjoy a beautiful pair of earrings she planned to leave me. So when I spotted a new tattoo parlor down the road, I knew it was a sign. I frantically tried to call my friend to come back and hold my hand, but she didn't answer. I thought - I can do this alone, and then I realized that I was any thing but alone. My Mom was right there with me.

The kid behind the counter who was half my age and had every inch of his body covered in tattoos, thought I needed directions. He actually thought I was lost! I probably would have given him a heart attack if I confessed that I have two "tats" (that's what they call them) of my own. When I told him that I wanted to get my ears pierced, he looked at me like I was even too conservative for that conventional rite of passage.

I took my seat in the waiting room, which was lined with old pews and felt like I was watching an episode of Miami Ink while in church. Apparently, only one artist has the ability to pierce ears...it is an art lost to more provocative personal parts. Ahem. I got a tad bit nervous when I saw his ear lobes. They were very tribal and I'll leave it at that. I chuckled thinking this is what my Mother feared when I came home with two lobes dangling from one ear...now it's fashionable and people pay for it! Another sign?

The whole painless process took five minutes. I left there feeling empowered, close to my Mom, and close to God. That is a good place to be at the onset of this Lenten season. I should be able to wear my Mom's bling maybe by Easter and certainly by Mother's Day. Either occasion strikes me as symbolic and seems rather fitting.