Let me begin with the fact that I’ve always wanted a tattoo. But, I didn’t want to be foolish about it and go get something like a butterfly or a ladybug or a Patriots logo or something that I’d be bound to not care at all about twenty years down the road. And then I’d be stuck with it.
So, now that I’m a proud Mommy of two (and there will never be three) beautiful children, I know that there is something in my life I’ll love forever and ever. Unequivocally. No matter what.
I’ve been mulling the idea of two small blue hearts, one with a W and one with a J (my boys first initials), for a while now. On my hip / bikini line so that no one I don’t care to show it to would ever know it was there. I’ve mentioned it to my husband and to friends but I’m pretty sure no one actually really thought I’d do it.
Well…I did it.
Made an appointment yesterday at a place called (gulp) Drastic Tattoo out near the Northshore Mall (on a friends recommendation).
Ring. Ring.
“Drastic Tattoo, this is Diamond.”
Diamond? (Deep breath)
Me: Ummm, hi. I think I want a tattoo tomorrow morning, do I need an appt?
Diamond: Sure, we open at 11 am.
Me: Oh. Hmm. Well, how long will it take?
Diamond: Tell me about the kind of tattoo you want.
So I explain it. Verbose-ly.
“Well, I’ve always thought I wanted a tattoo and never knew what to get and now I have two boys and I think I just want two little hearts colored in and each with the letter of their first name. I’m really nervous about it. I haven’t even told my husband I’m doing it. Anyway, I have to pick them up at school at 12:30 so if it’s going to take a long time, maybe I’ll just try to do it another day and…”
Diamond: I can open at 10 for you if that helps.
Me: Oh. You can? Well, that’s so nice of you.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that they open at 11, anyway. I mean tattoo places probably aren’t big stops for women coming in right after pre-school drop-off. And, hell, they’re probably staying open until, like 4 am or some hour I haven’t seen in…well, maybe forever.
Diamond: I’ll draw something up for you. See you at 10.
Me: ok
So, last night my dear husband asks me what I’ve got going on today and why I didn’t call my cousin back who I adore and who is in the area for the week and I was probably going to see on Thursday (today). I said I didn’t have anything going on and was actually probably not going to see her after all. Not sure why I didn’t come out and tell him about the appointment then. I guess I didn’t want to be talked out of it or offered opinions or whatever. Not to discredit his input which I value. This just sort of had to be something I was doing because I wanted to do it. For me.
Got up this morning and dropped the guys at school. Walked into their wonderful little school un-showered, in jeans and a fleece pullover. Ran into plenty of parents I should probably care about making a good impression on. But, nope. Went dirty. Came home after drop off, before my 10 am tattoo appointment and for some absurd reason I showered, put on nice black pants, a nice sweater, heeled black boots and…no joke….mascara. What in the world??? What message was I trying to send to the tattoo place? “Oh, in case you didn’t know already by my psycho-babble on the phone, or my black Jeep Grand Cherokee with car seats in the back or the fact that I’m walking in with my Starbucks pumpkin spice latte in hand….just to make it extra clear to you…I’m gonna dress up for my tattoo appointment. Just so you know for sure that I’m not the kind of person who usually gets tattoos. ” I swear, I’m half insane most of the time. They probably opened early for me so I wouldn’t scare off the rest of their clientele.
Anyway, Diamond is there when I arrive at 9:47. The place smells so badly of patchouli I can hardly breathe. But, it’s clean and bright and I think it’ll all be ok. Diamond’s done a sketch for me and sure enough it’s two hearts with a W and a J. But they’re all swirley fancy cursive Miami-Ink letters with curly-q tails and my two hearts have little twinkly star-burst things coming off them and they’re all askew and really BIG. And, I’m such a goddamn mouse who is afraid to hurt people’s feelings that it took all I had in me not to say “looks GREAT” and just go ahead and let the man put his insane artwork right on my body. Forever.
But, I muster up the courage and I edit. And he fixes. And it all looks good to go.
And now I’m on the table and definitely freaking out but determined. All set. I can do it.
Then right before the first outline begins, his freakin’ boss arrives and strolls right into the room, takes one look at me and says with a grin “This your first tattoo?” Genius. Oh, and he has tattoos ev-er-y-where. Even on his entire bald head. And the top of his hands. And he’s completely making me panic.
“Yes, my first tattoo.”
“Ah. Don’t be nervous. Just think about how this felt!” (pointing at his head)
I think I might throw up.
He continues. Pulls up a chair nearby. “Here, I’ll just tell you about my crazy teenage daughter this morning. Sh*t man, it was f*ckin’ ridiculous. Just listen to this and it’ll take your mind off the needles.”
Oh, please go away. Please.
But, I hear all about it and I am such an insane pollyanna, niceness nerd that I even manage to contribute a “no way” and a “oh no” and a “really?” now and then. The story takes roughly 15 minutes. The tattoo takes 19 minutes 37 seconds. Roughly.
And it’s over.
I tried calling my husband on the way home and I’m pretty sure he was busy and sent my call to voicemail so I haven’t even told him yet (although he’ll know before I post this of course.)
So, what do you think?
Confessions of a Serial Swooper 
I "stumbled upon" your link on Aidan's Ivy League Insecurities blog and man, am I glad I did. This story is rich with humor and emotion and I absolutely love it. If I ever was to get a tattoo, I have a feeling I'd be going through the exact same thought process.My favorite line, "They probably opened early for me so I wouldn't scare off the rest of their clientele."The tattoo is wonderful!