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One of the women at my bookstore has a son, and that son is opening a tattoo parlor, and so of course she's trying to talk everyone into getting a tattoo, and is getting one herself. I think this shows an admirable maternal instinct, especially because to look at L, you would hardly think her the type to even consider getting a tattoo. She's in late middle age, sedate and quiet and bespectacled, with a thick Finnish accent and a half-finished comp lit masters degree under her belt. She looks the sort who might not actually disapprove of tattoos, but in whose worldview tattoos would not normally greatly figure.
Isn't motherhood wonderful?
Anyway, if I didn't already love her very dearly -- she really is one of my all-time favorite people; her quietness and occasional astringency and her scratch-the-surface bohemian spirit are exactly my style -- I would love her for this. The idea of L. sitting in a chair letting her son mark her up with an Art Nouveau peacock on her upper arm just thrills me, I can't help it. And in a fit of enchanted, ravished solidarity, I am actually considering getting my own.
It's not as though I haven't had a tattoo in mind for ages, after all, thought out carefully, all planned out years ago, and it's not as though it would be a big or expensive one. It's not as though I have anything at all against tattoos, for me or for anyone else. It's just that I have this horror of skin, anyone's skin, being punctured by anything, knives, needles, you name it. I don't think I'd call it an actual phobia -- after all, I don't freak out when I give blood -- I'd stick with horror. But not even daily shots for my cat or weekly shots for me ever cured it, and I'm not sure I can overcome it. I'm going to try, though, for my friend L. Wish me luck!
:::
This has got me curious, I should add. How many of you have tattoos, and what and where are they? How many would or will get one, and what and where would it be? How many don't want one? How many disapprove altogether?
Isn't motherhood wonderful?
Anyway, if I didn't already love her very dearly -- she really is one of my all-time favorite people; her quietness and occasional astringency and her scratch-the-surface bohemian spirit are exactly my style -- I would love her for this. The idea of L. sitting in a chair letting her son mark her up with an Art Nouveau peacock on her upper arm just thrills me, I can't help it. And in a fit of enchanted, ravished solidarity, I am actually considering getting my own.
It's not as though I haven't had a tattoo in mind for ages, after all, thought out carefully, all planned out years ago, and it's not as though it would be a big or expensive one. It's not as though I have anything at all against tattoos, for me or for anyone else. It's just that I have this horror of skin, anyone's skin, being punctured by anything, knives, needles, you name it. I don't think I'd call it an actual phobia -- after all, I don't freak out when I give blood -- I'd stick with horror. But not even daily shots for my cat or weekly shots for me ever cured it, and I'm not sure I can overcome it. I'm going to try, though, for my friend L. Wish me luck!
:::
This has got me curious, I should add. How many of you have tattoos, and what and where are they? How many would or will get one, and what and where would it be? How many don't want one? How many disapprove altogether?
