To deal a squeezed belly button is actually elegant in my point of view. My colossal trepidation of needles stop me from experiencing this elegance though. Consequently only thoughts of a piercing graced my intellect for a handful of years. Only until spring break of 1999 in West Palm Beach, Florida, did I insist to have my fears and worries overthrown by delight.
        It was half way through spring break when I at long last stepped foot into a tattoo parlor. I was afraid but excited at the corresponding time to ultimately be getting my navel pierced. I looked at the vast amount of jewelry to choose from firearm waiting at the glass-cased counter to be helped. An attractive teensy all-metal light-green tinted ring with a silver world joining the ring together caught my eye and didn?t allow go. About five minutes later a nominal tattooed and vaguely pierced woman in her early twenties approached me. As nervous as I was I contemplated lets but get this over and done with. I told her I wished to have my navel pierced today. Since most shops will not pierce minors, this shop being one of the many, I was asked to prove my historic period by showing a picture ID. So since I was nineteen years old I was uninhibited by law to be pierced.
She acknowledging this took my driver license and proceeded to make a Xerox copy of it for their records. At the same time I was asked to autograph a consent and release form. The piercing at this particular shop was complimentary as long as you purchased their jewelry. So I handed the woman $25.00 for the stunning metallic green ring and proceeded with the funÂ.
        We next walked into a low-down well-lit meticulously clean room. I asked...
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