Tongue Piercing

Last week, at our work gathering, there were three consecutive evening gatherings. I reckon they were composed to foster collegial behavior among the 700 or so in attendance. They were loud and the food generally was lousy. That fact is more notably sad given the proximity of great food to our location just slightly SOMA.

On the last night, there was a cocktail party, dinner and awards hoo-hah. As we stood around trying to be heard over the din, we watched a group of co-workers perform on stage. A few actually had some modicum of musical talent, especially a woman who sang “Killing Me Softly” and a few other tunes. Mike, who is at the same height level as me (meaning I can hear him, even over the noise) was freaked out when he saw on the big screen that the singer had a tongue ring. And man, it was a nasty looking one. Mind you, Mike is not a shrinking violet or one who has lived a sheltered life.

I am not one for piercing. No one is punching holes in me that don’t belong there; heck, I poke all sorts of holes in me body each day with all matter of needles and syringes and lancets. Piercing for fun? Well, that just ain’t right!

Looking up at the screen at the colleague/singer, I say, OUCH!