I got my ears pierced the day after my thirteenth birthday. Since I was six, when my friends got their ears pierced, I had been wanting pierced ears, but I wasn’t allowed to until I was thirteen. I would often count the years until when I was thirteen. I was very excited. I loved the sparkling gems that just slid in perfectly to your ears. I loved the idea. Although I was often nervous about getting them pierced. But I held strong for seven years, thinking about how nice it was that I was’t thirteen, because I’d have pierced ears, or how I dreaded being thirteen because I would have to get my ears pierced.
So the years slowly ticked away, and soon it was time for my thirteenth birthday. I was nervous on the night of my birthday. But I had waited so long…
So, I bit the bullet, and got my ears pierced, (which really hurt by the way), and I didn’t have the numbing stuff, or the ice cubes. It really hurt.
Unpleasantry. Ear-piercing guns. Syringes. Today I had to get vaccines. I hate vaccines like heck. But really, I love the ideology behind vaccines. The doctor pulls out some files, and says, so, what horrible diseases would you like to not get today? “Oh, I’d like to not get the disease where you turn yellow and then get thirsty and puke, and then have ever-lasting scar’s please.” “Okay. Here you go.” And that’s the part I don’t like. The needles. I don’t like the idea of needles being stuck into your flesh putting a non-symptom disease into your bloodstream. And then my arms that hang limply to my sides, because they are sore.
It is very early morning right now, and my arms are hurting still, but not as bad as yesterday. That’s a relief.
I guess I really must not love needles.
Alright folks, I guess that’s all for this post!
A. M. W.