Monday, 27 January 2014


Monday is Funday. Perhaps First-Time Friday would have made more sense given the circumstances; but nonetheless, it was decided today that Monday would be the day that we took time to chip away at the ever-growing bucket list.

Today was concerned mostly (but not entirely) with making holes in peoples bodies.

In a world largely concerned with things that are on offer, tattoo and piercing parlours have gotten smart. Too smart, in my opinion. The 2-4-1 deal that we all know and love, it turns out, applies to nipple piercing, as if a nipple piercing was something you might only get one of. That said, I can't speak with authority on the matter, never having had or wanted one myself.

Unlike Grace.

We marched along to Asgard Tattoos & Piercing of Southampton, wherein Tom booked a tattoo (His first First Time of the day) for a bear on his ankle, which is now going to happen on Thursday (a sight which I can't wait to see, given that he gets hilariously freaked out over games of FIFA.) In case you were wondering, they run a very professional and polite establishment.

Grace got her nipples pierced - yes, both of them, thanks to that aforementioned deal - an ordeal which she later described as 'It's really cold, ow, erections are happening.' I never suspected Grace of being the sort of person up for such endeavors, and am not entirely sure whether I'm a poor judge of character or whether she genuinely isn't the sort.

Whilst all this was going on, I achieved a first. The opticians called with the news that my glasses were ready - at an opportune time as well, given that I was a quarter of an hour away from a lecture, which without the aid of glasses usually results in an attention shattering migraine. I popped into the branch five minutes later, picked them up, and now I have a very trendy pair of eyeglasses.

Later, Tom appeared still in the piercing sort of mood. But the shop was closed.
'Tom, don't look at me that way. I'm trying to cook my dinner.'

Cue our second firsts of the day. This mainly involved me trying to balance cooking dinner with pushing a piece of cold metal through Tom's ear whilst he yelled at me (as though it were my idea. Which it wasn't, for the record.)

Generally speaking this wasn't my first go at ear mutilation - I harked back to a simpler time, back when stretchers had just come into fashion. That old chestnut can easily be summarised with the quote 'Lewis, I can't do it, you do it - [screaming].'

This time wasn't so traumatic.

Grace assisted with the pushing and the puncturing and the disinfecting and putting an apple behind the ear (a trick she apparently learnt from The Parent Trap, of all things.) We filled in the bloody gap with a fox/wolf/generic-beast earring that he had bought, until he decided that it looked 'gay,' prompting us to push a whole new stud through.

If I go a whole year without having to puncture another human being, I won't be saddened by it. On the bright side, this whole situation gave a great opportunity for a selfie with my new glasses.

Bis Montag,

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