Dreaming of Reincarnation

Why?

Despite what you may think I try to be open-minded, but I still get slightly nauseous when I see those nose-rings that look like dripping snot. The other night at dinner, our waitress sported one of those. She was a pretty young woman, except for the silver snot balls dangling from each nostril. I considered asking her why she saw fit to do such a thing, but instead all I said was, "I'll have the Caesar salad with no croutons and extra anchovies."

Looking around the restaurant, I saw that almost everyone working there had some sort of shiny object jutting out of an odd place. The bartender had two big silver balls over one eyebrow, which almost deflected my attention from the tattoo encircling her neck spelling out something in a foreign language. (Turns out it was Celtic but I have no idea what it said.)

Among other attributes of his that I have mentioned before (no doubt too often), I am fiercely proud of my son for resisting the more outrageous forms of rebellion undertaken by so many of his peers. He still sports the lovely unmarked skin he arrived in, and has not poked any holes into it for the hanging of hardware. I believe this nonconformism to be one of his strongest qualities as it indicates a steely core able to withstand the uncomfortable role of the outsider. It's an inherited trait passed down from my mother, and one that I struggle with daily despite having been saddled with it since day one.

Some people say they want to come back as a cat or a movie star or Mahatma Gandhi. I'm hoping that in my next life I'm a Hillary-loving, book-club-joining scrap-booker with a maroon Suburban van and six kids who all need new shoes every few months that I shop for between driving them to soccer and the dentist and the doctor and play dates, leaving no time in my busy schedule to think about the meaning of life. Or anything at all, really.