Tattoo or not to tattoo that is the question. I’ve always considered myself a dork, not smart enough to be a geek or a nerd, but I’ve always had a little va-va-varoom in me. I often refer to myself as a mid-size sedan with a Corvette engine. From about the age of 18 I’ve wanted a tattoo. To be cool, different; trust me back in the day, it was different to have a tattoo. Every year in November from the ages of 18-26, I set out on a pilgrimage to Venice Beach, California to visit the tattoo parlors. Venice just seemed like the right place for something like this.
One time I even got so far as lying down on a table but chickened out at the last minute. Here’s been my thought process over the years. Where? If I get one, should I get on my breast or somewhere only my hubby and OB-GYN would see? Then, why bother? Needless to say, I didn’t get one. But as the years go by, I still think…do I want to be wild, cut loose and go for it? Should I mark my body with something profound or just plain silly? Every year I go to the tattoo shop looking for inspiration. But here’s what I realized, my romance for the tattoo is dying. I could say it was age, but it seems like everyone has one. I don’t want to be a follower. I’ve never really been a follower; I’ve enjoyed beating to my own drum. You add the pain, cost, maintenance, and let’s be honest age; it’s not looking like a sexy proposition. Eventually, the beautiful heart with my boys name on it could end up looking like it’s been through a couple of heart attacks. As Sebastian Maniscalco, one of my favorite comedians says, “You don’t put a bumper sticker on a Ferrari.”
