You can count me among those who avoid any type of elective surgery or needle-related body art which means I will be easily recognized in years to come as the unadorned woman whose upper cheeks meet her lower cheeks because I won’t do anything to stop either of them. Some of my fellow female migraine sufferers have rejoiced at the news that Botox treatments inhibit headache pain but I will swallow beta-blockers forever rather than sidle up to anything with a name I can trace back to badly handled meat.
All of this has been on my mind since Daughter informed me she is screening surgeons for a lasik procedure. I know that lasik eye surgery has become commonplace to the point that they offer payment plans and early-bird discounts like car dealers and restaurants down in Boca and they can call it a procedure or a phenomenon or a miracle or whatever they want but it’s still rock and roll to me.
For the first three decades of my life I had no holes in my body other than the ones my maker installed and then when Daughter was five she desperately wanted her ears pierced. I scrutinized her little friends’ ears and picked the one with the ear holes placed most perfectly (yes, I’ve always been crazy) and asked her mom which jeweler had pierced them and she directed me to nearby Boro Park. Boro Park is a neighborhood in Brooklyn populated with a large segment of Hasidic Jews and it was a jewelry store owned by one of these Orthodox community members that Daughter and I found ourselves in.
The shop owner was clad in the customary black coat and hat and was very formal and courteous. He had Daughter hop up on a stool and as she giggled with anticipation he put a hole in the first ear. The instant he pulled away, Daughter’s eyes and mouth opened so wide I was afraid of what might fall in and then after that terrible moment of suspended pain and shock had passed the sound came. It was loud and it was frightening and it came from the place deep in a five-year-old’s gut where gleeful anticipation turns to outright horror. In the midst of this otherworldly howl Daughter shot off the stool and bolted for the door.
I raced after her and body-blocked the entrance scooping her up in my arms. She was having no part of puncturing that second earlobe. The shop owner calmed her down and offered her a lollipop. We both told her how lovely the new earring looked. She was unmoved. Then with her eyes staring straight into me she said she would be willing to do the second ear if I did both of mine.
So now we had two interesting dilemmas. One, I didn’t want my ears pierced. Two, the shop owner was Hasidic and as such was forbidden to touch any man’s wife other than his own. Daughter was back on the stool with her arms folded looking at us. Realizing this could be an all-day standoff, I relented and agreed to have my ears done as well. Daughter’s face lit up. Now it was up to the shop owner and his Higher Authority.
He was clearly very uncomfortable with this situation and was adamantly shaking his head no so I figured I’d make it easy for him by laying out the facts as follows: If Daughter refused to have the other ear pierced, we would be removing the earring already in and leaving the store with no payment exchanging hands. If the shop owner agreed to touch me twice very quickly and I would never say it happened, he could make two sales in the next ten minutes. He considered these options briefly and it turns out that the conventions of religion are much more organic than the mortgage payment. All of our holes are perfectly placed but you didn’t hear it from me.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos were taken all around NYC and celebrate Men at Work
street artist faro sketching
courtesy of www.flickr.com/photos/theorie/
artist infinity’s game
musician bobby k at kenny’s castaways
what are these guys doing? 1. cut a hole in a box. . .