I’ve wanted to get my nose pierced since I was in college. I won’t even mention how long that’s been.

 

My main reason for not moving forward with facial mutilation was Mr. Sasha, who’s been around since high school. He was not on board with that at all.

 

He was also not so happy when I died my hair pink.  I did that when I was 19. Wait till I come home with a purple streak next week.  After I get the hole in my nose.

 

See, here’s something I’ve recently realized. Mr. Sasha doesn’t really care what I look like. He loves me. I can cook, I’m a good mom, I help with his business, and I’m fucking A-MAZ-ING in bed. (Yeah, I said it.)  I’ll still be all those things with a little stud in my nose and purple hair.

 

We live in suburbia. But, I am not a suburban housewife. And I’m feeling a need to make the outside match the inside.

 

Also? I’m kind of past the point in my life when I’d let some dude dictate what I wear. Even if he is holding my heart in his dominant hand. He could squeeze that sucker and kill me dead at a moment’s notice.

 

I’m feeling very…. rawr.  I don’t want those other PTO moms to think I’m one of them. I’m not. I’m not the enemy, but I’m not in their ranks, either. Call me Switzerland.

 

They have holes in their cheese. Like the hole that is going to be in my nose.

 

Hey, don’t tell Mr. Sasha about the purple hair, mmmkay? I want that one to be a surprise.

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