For my entire life, I was raised to believe that tattoos were a no-no; that the people who got them (cousins, uncles, aunts, etc.) were not bad people, but rather that getting a tattoo was just not something I was supposed to do.
And as a child, with a fear of needles, I was absolutely okay with that. Inflict unneeded pain? Have skin rubbed raw and injected with ink? No thank you.
And, in all seriousness, how often do we even see tattoos that are remotely attractive? Um, never. It’s gotta be one great tattoo, a whopper really, for me to even glance twice!
But as I’ve grown up, and more friends have started to go “under the needle,” my curiosity has peaked. Because I’ve realized that a few words here and there, in black ink ONLY, are the only tattoos that I like—many I actually love! And sometimes, they look rather classy. Usually this classiness comes from the wearer of the tattoo, but go with me here.
So, my curiosity got the best of me and I began to look around. Not necessarily completely sold on the idea of a tattoo. Just curious; thinking; wandering.
E, official Quad member, was also looking around. And far more adventurous then me, E went for it. Last Saturday we ventured on over to Tailored Tattoo, a block or two from the BC campus. (Note: E researched and researched and researched. She picked the best place around and looked at tons of his work. Tailored Tattoo is the best of the best.)
We had gone in for consultation on the Thursday and the man was extremely friendly and the shop was as quaint and as cute as a tattoo shop can get on the main street of a super small town. (And super clean. I was extremely impressed with E’s pick!)
So Saturday afternoon, after going to the football game, the Quad and I accompanied E on her big adventure. She didn’t cry or scream or freak out…I think I did enough freaking out for everyone! I was soooooo nervous and I wasn’t even getting the tattoo!
It took a little bit over an hour; M studied for Bio and T read her History in the lobby. I was too captivated by the whir of the needle to leave E’s side. Instead I opted to photograph every moment of our adventure.
In the end, her tattoo ended up quite beautiful. Simple; only black; classy. I love it.
I had to step in once more as Momma Hannah to change her bandage, affectionately dubbed “the diaper,” twice a day. She’s healing. The pain that wasn’t present during the application of tattoo arrived later on, but has since subsided.
I would say she’s quite pleased with the outcome…
But I’m still not sold on the idea.
I see no need to inflict pain for hours on end, to be diapered for days, or be stuck with something for life. But who knows; it is only the second month of my freshman year!
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