I love many of the young hipsters of today. They are sassy, they are open, they know how to get intimate. Megan Butcher is one of my favourites in the blogosphere. She blogs about everything from her pap smear ordeal to her tattoo experience to her nearly-got-barfed-on-while-having-sex situation. What a gal! I love all this get down and dirty disclosure.
I was grossed out by hipster-colleague today, however. She seemed to think it was necessary to inform me that her absence at work was the result of "complications due to a piercing." I didn't notice any new holes in her ears or face. I said, "Please, would you mind not saying anything more. I don't want to know, and frankly I don't care what you've done to yourself." She was offended, and so I apologized to her later in the day, explaining that I am not from the self-mutilation generation and that images of pus make me queasy.
4 comments:
Y'know I sometimes admire self-inflicted ventilation in an academic way -- Ms. Butcher's tattoo photos are beautiful. But I've never wanted piercings or tats myself, either. Leading a below-the-radar life of crime, I naturally want as few distinguishing marks as possible for the constabulary to put on any 'Wanted' posters. Yellow eyes, pointy ears, bushy tail and a way-fuzzy butt are quite enough, thank you...
I'm too much of a wuss to go for piercings or tattoos.
Ahh, Aggie, I understand yer feelings about pus, but y'realize y'avoided an opportunity to be intimate with yer young colleague.
Could it be if you became comfortable with her telling of her private matters, you'd be more comfortable sharing yours?
If y'd like some practice at listening to this sort of thing, just ask me about my troubles with fungus.
Ick.
Yes, it always comes back to the intimacy issue, doesn't it?
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