I never had my nose pierced. My nose is a most remarkable one, quite the fine old Museum Quality specimen, a genuine Relic, an Artifact, a bold testament to the millennia upon millennia of nose ownership practiced by a splendid thread of the rich tapestry that is my proud Multi-Continental-Parti-Mix heritage. Show me a littered forest and a tear runs right down my cheek. It's the kind of nose that when I was in college, well-meaning and fashionable white girls in sororities would sweetly whisper to me about whether I knew that I could have it "fixed," Science having made such great advances as to make such a thing possible. I was aware of the recent doings of Science, and appreciated the sincere concern of these girls, their innocence rendering the unconscious condescension of their tender inquiries quite inoffensive, but I had no interest in having it "fixed," because I did not then and do not now consider it in need of repair. So I did not have it "fixed," even declining, as gently and with all the grateful courtesy and grace I could muster, at least for the thought, an offer from one of these sweet girls to cover all expenses, as her gift to me, so that, according to her philosophy, I might have a "better future." However, neither did I ever pierce it, because when I would stick bindis on it (yes, this is Inspired, at least partly, by a suggestion I made in another thread to someone considering piercing her face) I wondered if the little jewel called too much attention to it, considering that it does a very creditable job of commanding attention without benefit of bling. Yet I longed to adorn it, and eventually found that a small very thin gold ring set it off very nicely. I used what used to be called a "self piercing" earring, the ends of which can be pulled apart so that it will rest nicely in the side of the nose and look for all the world like a real nose ring. Years passed, and I lost one of my "self-piercing" earrings, and then the other, and the self piercing stuff was no longer to be found on store shelves, since they never had really worked to pierce a single ear (or nose) that I am aware of, and by then the popularity and ubiquity of "air guns" had shriveled the market for even the dream that they might, and so my nose decoration days were at an end. Oh, every once in a while I would give it another shot with the bindis, but even the teensiest little jewel just didn't look quite right. And then, in one of those triptychs of coincidence that usually only happen in books, within the space of a few days, someone posted here about a facial piercing, I ran into that lovely girl who had made me the gift of such a heartfelt offer so many years ago, and sifting through yet another box of yesterbling, I found one of my old "self-piercing" earrings. I was wearing it when I saw her, or rather I was aware of the presence of someone looking at me, I did not know who she was, but she (maybe because of the nose? ) recognized me immediately, it took her a moment, she said, to call out my name, because (I told you she is a very sweet girl) she just could not stop looking at me. When I was in school I never accepted payment for writing essays for people, at least not for people who were genuinely incapable of stringing two sentences together to save their lives, and this particular girl used to regularly credit me with saving hers, and plead with me to take some money. Maybe that was another reason for the nose-fixing offer. Her parents expected her to get certain grades, and she studied, and applied herself as much as anybody could be expected to do, but the fact is that academic skills are, like good singing voices, not universal features included as standard equipment on every human being. Just to give an example, no sound that could be called a note has ever emerged from my throat. And so I wrote her essays as she would have written them had she been able to write anything at all, and if a word that would never find its way into her vocabulary slipped in here or there, or a turn of phrase more redolent of me than she, our professors were discreet and genteel enough not to notice, and she graduated with the grade point average demanded by the 'rents, and was sent off on her Grand Tour in a blaze of glory, where, dutiful daughter as always, she did as was expected and captured the heart of the scion of the Old Family Friend's family, and if her own heart's longing lay elsewhere, with the exception of one long and epic night of Ellen Robillardian proportions, nothing more was ever said about it, and everyone agreed that it was the most spectacular wedding of the season. So there she stood before me, my unlikely and long-lost friend, the lovely girl now a plump matron, surgical attempts to turn back time cruelly abusing her in the unforgiving sun, no, I did not recognize her, the girl we were all supposed to want to look like, not at first, not from her altered face, her bloated form, I did not recognize her until I turned to face full on she who called my name, and saw the sadness in her eyes. Still. We did the requisite polite reminiscing and catching up, and asking if either of us had heard anything from this one or that one, and she was kind enough to make some very complimentary remarks about my appearance and clothing, and I was kind enough to recognize and remark on the designer labels of hers, and almost kind enough not to enjoy an inward smile, OK, a small gloat, at how a lifelong commitment to "they should never remember exactly what you had on" could cause a knit top from Wal-Mart, a neutral pant, and a judicious sprinkle of WorldBling to inspire such sincere admiration and even a bit of ill-concealed envy against the backdrop of the sweet girl's millions. As we said our let's keep in touches, no really, let's do, she reached out and touched my nose ring gently with a designer-tipped finger. "You got it pierced!" I laughed and slipped the ring out, to show her it was faux. "We were so clueless back then," she said. "At least I was. Don't you ever even think of letting anybody touch your nose. It is beautiful. It makes your face." I thanked her, and politely refrained from reflecting aloud that I could not say that it had negatively impacted my future. But I thought it, and I thought it again later that night, as Mr Puff reached out an impeccably groomed but designer-free finger and touched my nose ring, laughing. "Your nose is beautiful," he said. "With ring or without." And as I went upstairs, leaving a well-kissed Mr Puff to enjoy some televised intentional ball-throwing activity, I thought of my old friend and Ellen Robillard and noses and futures and good intentions and the things we do and the things we don't. I thought of haves and have-nots, and how the phrase does not always have to do with bank accounts, and the tear that ran down my cheek had nothing at all to do with littered forests... I guess I could have just typed "Is your nose pierced?" which is actually what I envisioned this thread to be about. So is it? And if it's not, why not? Please post your Nose Adornment stories here!