Walk across the parking lot from the grocery store to a Broomfield tattoo parlor, and you'll see what I did this Saturday. If I were able to title the event, it would be called "Valentines Day 2010: A Gift of Epic Awesomeness and General Badassery." It is the most literal title available for my day.
It began with an email from my friend that went a little something like this:
"So, I think I'm going to act on a impulse and get [name changed]'s initials with a heart tattooed on my butt for Valentines (no, I'm not joking). I'll probably do this tomorrow afternoon or Saturday.
This is not the kind of thing I want to do alone."
and a thread continued on to the tune of:
"Ohmyhahaha that is amazing. I will come hold you hand and laugh. At you."and finally:
"If it's less than 50....I could maybe be persuaded""I haven't quite convinced myself to actually go through with getting the tattoo. Listen, it's not because it's against my religion or anything I just think it might hurt my precious baby butt."
"guys I'm getting a real one. I'm getting an anchor because it looks like tyler's initials and more reasons. But i'm doing it because if I don't do it right now, I'll chicken out again. Sorry to go emo."
"I am so excited about this I could not sleep last night. I am totally in to get the name on the ass. Should we make an appt. somewhere?"
Translation: 5 married women with either jobs or children or both tattooing names/initials in hearts, on cheeks, for a gift. Yes, David, this is real life.
After an eventful night of marriage curses, phone calls, and text messages from a
Does this story get better? Oh yes, yes it does.
Once each of my friends were brandishing a hilariously wonderful Valentine's day gift on their ba-donks (it's amazing how many euphemisms I can think of for that body part), it was my turn. I brought over my little drawing, and rolled up my sleeve. Then, I braced for impact. I might have asked a few times "This isn't a boy's tattoo right? Because I don't want to look at a boy tattoo everyday." I learned, that even girls can be sailors. Frick.
The gift reveal was a success, and despite being 2 hours late for our fancy V-day party, everyone was really stoked on the day. It was one of the best Saturdays I've had. Even if I look at my arm when I'm 50, and say "what was I thinking?" I'll remember the day and lighten up, because I still can't believe how much fun it was. Also, if I don't think it's awesome when I'm fifty, someone needs to remind me that I used to be fun, and had really, and I mean really, great friends, and I need to relax.
About the buyer's remorse. Well, that was to be expected. And as you can see, it is on my wrist. My wrist that I see about 200 times a day. My wrist that I can get way too close to my face and stare at every imperfect pore, not to mention not so straight lines or asymmetrical anchors. I may go back and get it perfected, but I also may just leave it as is. A souvenir from a day I went out-with one day's notice- with friends to get a tattoo in honor of my hub, that will also always make me think of them.