I could watch what I wanted on TV.
I could drink Pepsi.
I could eat candy.
I knew right from wrong.
I was never a rebel... unless you call drinking a little Arbor Mist behind closed doors with all of my friends every now and again rebellious.
I was your typical 16 year old.
Your typical 16 year old that LONGED for a belly button ring.
It was a little trashy and a little cool and I HAD to HAVE ONE.
"I will not pay a dime of it!" my dad said.
"I will not sign for you. You have to wait until your 16th birthday," Mom said.
"Don't do it."
"If your Daddy George finds out... he is going to get you."
Obviously, they didn't want me to do it.
Fast forward a week after my 16th birthday.
I had saved my hard earned hosting money and I was ready.
A friend went with me to hold my hand.
I walked into the tattoo parlor looking like a fish out of water. I was dressed to the nines with heels on because I was on my way to work.
I looked at the tattooed lady in front of me and gulped so hard I thought I had swallowed my throat.
Maybe I should run... I thought to myself.
No, I HAD to HAVE it done. It was almost as if I HAD to do it to show my parents HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I DID IT! What a stupid little 16 year old I was.
The whole time I was laying there, I remember thinking of the Saved by the Bell: The College Years when Alex wanted a tattoo but didn't get it because the guy's name was Rusty. Rusty... needle... hahahaha!
Anyway, my guy's name was not Rusty.
I laid down, closed my eyes and he counted.
He was done before I knew it... literally.
I sat up and saw the big ass needle still in my belly button.
Talk about vomit. That was disgusting.
I walked out of that tattoo hole and new woman though.
I was a new woman with a belly button ring.
I was a new woman with a CROOKED belly button ring.
I probably said the actual word when I noticed it.
F F F F F!
I remember my Dad just laughing and shaking his head. I'm sure he was thinking, "Yep, I told you not to get the damn thing."
Anyway, with the right belly button ring no one ever even noticed the crookedness.
However, I did have to hide the damn crooked thing from my Daddy George for YEARS. That was no small feat.
Anyway, fast forward 10 years and two babies later.
Caroline: "Mom, what it that?" as she points to my belly button.
Me: "Oh! Well, that is where Mom had a belly button ring."
Caroline: Stares for a few seconds.... "GROSS! What's wrong with it?"
Me: "Ummm... you did that to me and so did Emma. You stretched my belly button and it made the hole look ummmm... funny."
We had a long discussion about what a belly button ring was, looked like, etc.
Caroline: "Can I get my belly button pierced?"
Me: "Sure! When you are old enough, you go for it girl!"
Caroline: "Ummm... Mom... I don't want to. I'm not a fan."
Life Lesson #2: Maybe your children really do learn from your mistakes.
Here's to hoping anyway...
I was going to post a picture of the belly button. However, it looked like a