Wednesday, September 17, 2008

If I had a Tattoo

I'm way too chicken; senior year in high school, Lawnboy, my BFF Desirae, and I drove down to the booming metropolis of Portland with the intent to get tattoos.

Desirae went first. She got a HUGE tribal design on her forearm. It bled. She was tough, but the tears sprang to her eyes nonetheless. My turn came up, and I wimped out.

Whoooooo, she wasn't happy about that.

Also, Lawnboy was too cheap (and I think he wouldn't mind if I told you he was also scared), and he ended up walking away uninked too.

Truth be told, it wasn't just the pain that freaked me out. It was the permanence. I kept thinking that some day, Desirae would regret that huge black mark on her arm. It didn't have much meaning, which bothered me very much. Flipping through the books of flash in the parlor, something rolled through my head: this decision deserves more thought than I've given it.

Fifteen years later, I think I've found the one thing I know I could live with for the rest of my life. It's irrelevant now, because I wouldn't fritter so much money away on something that isn't that significant to me, but it's pretty, and meaningful, and it would fit the bill if I were to find myself in a similar situation again.

One thing, though. I'd also need a waist. Or some hips. Something to make my back more closely resemble a cello.

No comments: