Tattoos fascinate me. They really do. When I see a cool one, even if it's on someone I don't know, I want to know - and often ask about - the story behind it. Sometimes the story is as cool as the tattoo. Sometimes there is no story and the art is just something the wearer liked.
I have to say, if I'm going to have something permanently inked onto my body? I'm going to have to like it one hell of a lot.
I have a lot of friends who have them... some of them are beautiful, some are intensely personal (symbols, words, verses, even the handwriting of someone special), and some are... well... let's just say that some are pictures I wouldn't want plastered all over my butt.
I've seen quite a few, really, that have made me scratch my head. Once, when I was camping, I saw the NASCAR logo, in all its brilliant colors, tattooed on a woman's leg.
And it was BIG.
Whatever floats your boat, eh? Or, you know, drives your car...
And once? I saw hands tattooed around a woman's neck - they looked like they were strangling her. That one? I did not understand. At. All. (And I was a little askeerd to ask about it, as she looked like maybe she could strangle me.)
But I'm amazed by some of the originality in some I see - and the thought and sentimentality behind them.
Ryan likes tattoos, too. She has a whole board on Pinterest dedicated to ones she likes. And that's fine. I wouldn't let her get one now, certainly. And though I know she might want one as soon as she turns 18, I've asked her to please, please, please understand that her taste at 18 and her taste at 30 will be completely different (hello! Have you seen the glasses I wore when I was 18?)... and that her taste at 50 will be different from her taste at 30 (remember the 90s?). I've told her that, right or wrong, employers in many, many fields frown on visible ink, and I've asked her to consider the fact that a tattoo that looks good when she's wearing a bikini may not look nearly so nice when she's wearing an all-dressed-up outfit (or a wedding dress).
And I'll keep reminding of her those things...
Regret is a painful thing.
I know quite a few people who regret theirs. I feel bad for them.
I know a lot of people who say, "Never. Not me!"
I get that. It's a trend, after all... albeit a growing one... but one that will, eventually, become unpopular, as all trends do. By then, nursing homes are going to be full of some very colorful (literally) old folk!
Still, I've considered getting one. Seriously considered it. For several years. Just a small one, on my wrist (I want to be able to see it, as if I can't see it, I don't see the point in having it). Something meaningful. But I've wondered if what's meaningful to me today will be meaningful to me at 60. Honestly, I figure it probably will be. I mean, it's not as if I'm 18 anymore (lord knows I'm not 18 anymore). And then I've wondered if I'll even give a hoot when I'm 60 (or, you know, even be able to see) what small thing is tattooed on my wrist.
Then? The time I spent in the hospital in the spring (and the blood work I have to have done regularly now) nearly cured me of the thought...
I don't like being stuck.
But then, after a while, I started to think about it again...
I'm thinking about it now...
Just a small one. On my wrist. Something meaningful. Something simple.
Yeah... I'm thinking about it...