Four years ago today, at noon on a beautiful June day, my friend C and I sat on the stoop of Brother E's tattoos in Downers Grove, IL. Yes, my friends, I am such an uber-dork that I had to wait for the tattoo parlor to open. But at least I wasn't alone.
I had wanted a tattoo for years, but I couldn't decide on what and where. My cousin got a tattoo on the top of her right foot. I really liked it, but I didn't want to get the same thing, or the exact same place. I thought about it for a couple more years - hey, this thing is FOREVER, I want to be SURE - and decided I wanted it on my left foot, and I wanted a different flower, and a butterfly.
My friend had also wanted a tattoo for ages and ages. My birthday is in April, hers in July so we went together to get tattoos for our birthdays. We walked in, once they unlocked the door, and were greeted by the smell of rubbing alcohol. Surely this is a good sign. Clean. Clean is good.
Between my flower and the rose she wanted on her ankle, we looked through scads and scads of flash. She found one she liked, her guy started setting it up, we found one she liked better, her guy very patiently set it up. I found something that was close, except move the butterfly here, change the stem, oh and the flower and could you just tweak this... At least I'm consistent.
I went into this expecting agony. Lit cigarettes on flesh, might pass out pain. She laughed at me and told me it wasn't going to be anything. Her guy started on her first, and I have never heard such a string of obsenities. Holy smokes. My guy looked up at me and asked if I was going to swear and jump around like that. My answer: "in all probability, yes." But really, it wasn't that bad, and it was certainly nowhere near what I'd been expecting. True, going over the bones in my foot was not the most fun I've ever had, but not nearly the agony my always fertile imagination made it out to be. Less than an hour later and we were done, bandaged and on our way.
I'd love to get another one, but I'm dithering just as much over this one. I'm thinking maybe a dragon high on my inner thigh, or something on my ribs or maybe something on my back... I dunno. At this rate, it'll take me another 30 years to make up my mind.
So, have you ink?
2 comments:
No, no ink. Came close when I was a teenager. I was in a band, and I had devised our logo - a variation on a Celtic cross - and we were all going to get that same cross tattooed on our calves (we had heard The Allman Brothers all had a magic mushroom in the same place, so...)
As it turns out, the band broke up about a year later, so I'm very glad we never did it.
Nah. I considered it once, in college. (A little bird flying in an airplane!) But it wasn't that popular back then. I never pursued it. Nowdays my husband would kill me -- he dislikes tats and piercings. (I would sooo have pierced my eyebrow in college, had that sort of thing been around. Back in the dark ages.)
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