Many people have them these days. I understand that people want to find a symbol or image that represents a significant event in their lives. Tattoos are permanent expressions of thought or feeling or artistry.
I'm sorry, but no way in hell.
Just the idea of a needle, or a bundle of needles, ramming ink into my skin, over and over and over, gives me the willies. I'm a wimp. I admit it. I'm okay with it. I don't have to be all tough and strong, particularly when it's something so incredibly optional as a tattoo! Roommate can be that way. I do not have to be.
Speaking of, here's her third:
It's sideways. I know. It isn't sideways when I look at it on the computer, but...we shall simply add this to the list of things I do not know how to fix on this delightful machine. Accept. Move on.
Anyway. Roommate, incredibly tough creature that she is, has had three tattoos to date, two of them on the very sensitive area of her ankle. Both ankle tattoos were...applied, shall we say? Yes, applied to commemorate the occasion of the 3-Day walk for breast cancer. The first was the traditional pink ribbon image, with 2009 on the ribbon. This one, in case you couldn't read the printing around the pink boxing gloves, reads "Fight Like A Girl," and '10 is inked on the glove itself. She's still noodling out what symbol will be used for 2011's walk.
Having participated in the 3-Day, I feel the body is sufficiently abused by walking sixty freaking miles, but hey. That's Roommate. I have said before and I shall say again, Roommate is very strong. You pretty much have to hack off a limb to get her to express pain. I get a hangnail and the planet knows.
Coworker Tonya is also no stranger to pain, so getting this:
...might not be the ordeal she's used to enduring. Between raising a teenager, working in the Lab From Hell, going through gastric bypass and oh, yeah, dealing with me on a regular basis, one might be forgiven for assuming Tonya likes pain.
I'm not judging. I'm here to love, not to judge.
Look, if people want tattoos, or piercings, or scars, or whatever, they should have them. Over here, on the wussy side of the room, I shall decline. For my sake, for my friends' sake, for the sake of the poor tattoo artist who'd get saddled with me. No. No, thank you.