Inked

The tattoo is perfect, just as I thought it would be.

The experience of getting the tattoo was the stuff of family classic storytelling, just like I knew it would be.

My mom, her boyfriend (manfriend? life partner?) Richard, and Chanel and Dani were all there. Richard and I were getting our first tats, and Mom and Dani were also getting new tattoos. Chanel was along for the ride to point and snicker.

I went first, mostly so that I wouldn’t have the chance to chicken out.

Brandi – who I am now convinced is one of the most talented artists I’ve had the pleasure of knowing personally – was sweet, patient, and professional. She has a demeanor that is equal parts perky and soothing, and as nervous as I was I felt confident about letting her permanently alter my body.

Aside from being a kickass artist, she likes pirates, classic literature and classic cars, Harry Potter, and good music. My kind of girl.

Still, I spent the entire time faceplanted under my sister’s boob, gripping her back and panting like a laboring dog:

Poor Dani, the willing support victim. I bit her once. Oops.

Nearly the entire time, I was thinking that people who got more than one tattoo were fucking masochists. The use of the f-bomb in the adjective form was very necessary, because it effing hurt and surely people who actually liked  to get tattoos were effing crazy. And I told them so. “You guys are freaking MASOCHISTS.” I determined that they were also sadists, because they all laughed at me. Freaks.

Don't say, "Awww." They are not angelic. They laughed at me. Bitches.

But at some point I came to a place where it seemed to stop hurting, and instead of squeezing the life out of Dani’s backfat, I was able to watch Brandi work. I liked being able to watch her progress, and somehow I felt…I don’t know…prettier as she inked in the last bits of shading. Maybe it had something to do with the idea of permanent change for the better happening so easily. If only it were so easy to reshape bits of your personality that are in need of improvement. I think what the feeling mostly comprised was of the accomplishment of knowing that I’d sucked up enough courage to do something that I said I never would because I was too scared to. There is something greatly satisfying in beating weaker parts of yourself at your own game.

The end result:

There is a white star on the left that you can barely see which represents me. The four middle stars represent Kyra, Jaiden, Jordan, and Kaelyn. The big blue one represents Frank.

As soon as I saw how good it looked, I decided right then that eventually, I’ll get another tattoo. It won’t be any time soon and I have no idea what I want, but I know that at some point I’ll want to define some other future life accomplishment with ink.

In the meantime, Brandi is working up a sketch of a more masculine version of the same tattoo for Frank. We’re tentatively planning for him to get his tattoo next month.

Like a good sadist, I want him to feel the love, too.

I leave you with this picture, just because it is made up of too much of The Cute not to share:

Bella & Kaelyn

What is something that you did that you said you never would? I guess this works both ways, with the action being something you regretted or something that made you feel more accomplished. Take whichever angle you wish.

Tagged as: Frank, sisters, tattoo, the Minions