Got Ink?

Dale and I had discussed researching tattoos today--researching being the operative word. She was interested in getting a new one to cover up an old and faded one from 30 years ago. I was thinking about finding someone who could do a nice fleur de lys. We had just had brunch at a little Mediterranean place down the street and perhaps my food coma marred my good judgment.

We walked into the Old Crow Tattoo Parlor on Grand Avenue and were greeted by a young man with long locks (don't call 'em dreads). I said I wanted to find out about getting a tattoo and he said, "how about now?" Now? (insert Scoobie Doo sound here).

Dale said she'd hold my hand, and she did as my flesh was seared with a needle injecting dark ink deep into the depths of my epidermis. Yes, it hurts. A lot. I probably turned her hand blue-I'm not sure because I couldn't look. My eyes were squeezed tightly shut as I lay on the table feeling like a flame was being held to my skin as it burned off, layer by layer. I was definitely regretting my choice as it happened. And then it was over. And then--"You're done." I hopped up off the table and looked in the mirror. "It's cute!"

Then he tells me to not take anything for the pain because I don't want to "desensitize myself for my next tat". (yeah right). Dale chuckled. I'm not sure if it was because she agreed that I'd be back or that she thought he was full of crap, or maybe she was chuckling because I was whining like a five-year old who fell down and skimmed a knee. "It hurts." She kindly soothed me telling me I was brave. She's a good friend. I'm fairly certain that she was the friend in high school who held back your hair as you puked your guts out after drinking too much to prove to the cute guy that you were cool, as she thought to herself, "why are you doing this", but never being judgmental to your face. Yes, Dale is a good friend.

Did I do something stupid? I don't think so, and now I've got ink, and it's cute.