|Not this, obvs. Photo: Steve Evans|
There comes a time in a woman’s life where it may become necessary to attract attention away from the face.
The sagging jowels and constantly angry demeanour I have cultivated just aren’t now terribly appealing to the viewer.
So – at age 39 – I have finally decided to have my ears pierced.
The trouble is, I was brought up to believe this was a barbaric practice for prostitutes and tribesmen only.
So strong was my father’s indoctrination, the evidence around me (that everyone from my 2-year-old niece to my dentist had it done) was not enough to spur me into even the most modest of studs.
So, for decades now, my dangling lobes have remained virgin. I am proud of it in the same way as I am proud of being a left-hander. It really makes not the slightest difference to anything but it’s sometimes fun to be in a minority.
But now, I feel a glorious pair of out-sized loops – see J-Lo – or a heavy pair of enormous lobsters (or should I say lobe-sters) could do a lot for my oppressed Hausfau look.
Who is going to look at my stained tabard when they are confronted by some miniature diamond chandeliers gleaming out from behind my greying bob?
Only one problem remains: who will conduct this mutilation ceremony? I am surely way too old for Claire’s accessories and too square for the highly-recommended tattoo parlour down the road.
Besides, they seem more interested in piercing people’s faces.
Will I have to do it myself like I have to DIY everthing else? Answers in the comment section please.