I used to think that tattoos were just awful. I guess that's part of being raised by a mother, who opposes any kind of body "enhancements". Her motto was/is "If you were meant to have pictures on your body, you'd be born with them." Reasonable enough, right? Of course she does have pierced ears. ;) So I followed my mother's path and strong opinion against tattoos. And because I'm loud and obnoxious I'd tell tattoo wearers, that they'll regret it someday, and that it's just so damn wrong to put pictures on your body.
Of course I had a boyfriend once with a smokin' hot tat on his left arm and shoulder, and I LOVED summer, when he got to show it off. But that was obviously my evil little twin, and I never told anyone.
About a year ago I started thinking about getting a tattoo of my very own. Yes, world, now you know. I'm going on 35, and I'm considering going through hellish pain to put a picture on my body. I carefully warned my husband about this, who was surprisingly positive about it. He asked frequently if I had found any designs, and where I thought I wanted it ("above my butt or on my shoulder").
Today I finally showed him the design I chose, and he liked it. And then he panicked. "You're not really going to do this, right? Imagine when you're 90 with a tattoo above your butt. You'll be so unhappy."
Well, let's go on a trip to the future. Let's imagine I'll actually make it to 90. Hubby will be dead, or so he says. With any luck I'll be mobile enough to put on my own clothes. Chances are I will not bother turning around to look at my ass to begin with. Trust me, I have no illusions about the looks of my various body parts at such an advanced age. Gravity already has a tight grip on me, and I'm not even 35 yet. Additionally I'll be wearing underpants, that look more like full body condoms, for maximum support of various cheeks and other droopy body parts. A smallish drawing above my butt will either disappear under folds of skin or covered by a big white tent.
Or, and I almost like to think of this idea, I'll be in a nursing home, and some young sweet nurse or what's better, a young hot nurse dude will help me into my clothes, and notice the tattoo. He (Oh, let it be a guy, puleeease!) will, for just moment, stop thinking of me as an old woman without a life, and realize, that he's dealing with a person who has a past. Or, I'll be cruising around with my dandy little walker, showing it off to all the other nice people at the nursing home, who will then show off their own, and we'll have a contest, and give prizes to the biggest, and ugliest, and droopiest tattoos. Oh, how fun it will be.
Of course I'm a big baby, so I can't do it alone. Shady Lady has graciously volunteered (Ha, she's begging me to do it soon!! Okay, no, she's not begging, but almost....) to hold my hand and babysit and stroke my hair, while I'm crying and wailing. HerbiFaery, you in? ;) I have two hands to hold, you know.