Skin Deep

A friend of mine recently announced that he was interested in getting a "tasteful tattoo" (which is a bit of an oxymoron, if you ask me) and was seeking input from others. I found that a little strange, since what you engrave into your skin should be, well, personal. Call me crazy.

So, naturally, since everything (in MY mind), ends up being about me, I began to reflect on my own tattoo, and how it came to be. Come with me, won't you, on a journey that began just about 18 years ago.

My boyfriend of about one month and I decided that since we were both kindred, crazy spirits, we should get tattoos to show the world just how rebellious and spontaneous we really were. Never mind the fact that he was a straight-laced, conservative-leaning medical student. Someone I would hardly give a second glance toward, had he not been so dang funny (and cute and smart). Anyway, anyway... we were both flat broke, so we decided to borrow money from my mom, lying that we were off to the movies. Being so typically my mom, instead of handing us a fifty and sending us on our way, she carefully doled out $14 ($7 per movie ticket x 2). I'm sure we were to bring home change, should there be any.

Fast forward to the tattoo parlor. We were just so pleased with ourselves, walking so bravely (and coolly) into the seedy dive. As we began to peruse the menu of colorful markings, we quickly realized that if we were going to go glamorous or outrageous, we were about $200 short. We made our way to the "cheap" section and saw that our options were limited. But suddenly, our eyes lit up and we sang out in unison, "That's the one!" We both agreed that the tiny peace sign would be perfect and ALMOST within budget. We coerced our grumpy, but talented and sensitive, artist to give us a 2-for-1 deal. A little pain, and a miniscule amount of blood later, we had matching tattoos on our feet, outwardly displaying our matching hearts. Now, that boyfriend of mine wore socks for a few months, keeping it out of sight (his parents would have physical proof of my bad influence), whereas I flaunted mine to any and all. It was met with very mixed reviews (which I loved), with the majority wondering what it would look like when I'm 80.

Of course, that boyfriend became my husband just a few short months later. The rationale being, where else was he going to find someone with a matching tattoo? The proposal, if you haven't figured it out by now, will have to be a post all unto itself, if I'm to do it any justice whatsoever.

I might not know what my tattoo will look like when I am 80, but I am exactly halfway there and it still looks pretty darn good. And besides, by the time I am 80, my breasts are certain to be sagging so low, they will cover it nicely. Or I will be completely out of my mind and simply won't care.