Traditionally, members of our household have always been of the “not to” persuasion. All of the standard reasons are cited often: stigma, risk of infection, aging—given that today’s cute butterfly might someday resemble a charging elephant on a sagging butt—or worse, everyone will know that you picked #37 from that sign in the window. Then, the other day, out of nowhere, a strange woman who otherwise resembled Laura in every way said, “The skin on your legs will probably never sag, so you could get a tattoo.” Doh, WHAT!?!
Ever since then I’ve been looking around, and pondering just what sort of tattoo I might like (perhaps the #41; also a prime), one that wouldn’t hurt as much as breaking a leg. What do I have to say to the world, in indelible ink?
I’ve thought a great deal about Hawaii, Mayans, calligraphy, symbols, and my own heritage. Since I am neither Hawaiian or Mayan, and despite the fact that I enjoy their art, it’s just not me. Calligraphy? People get tattoos of characters from the writing system of another culture all the time, and frequently a symbol that they believe means “peace” or “wisdom” or “heart,” actually means “gum wrapper” or “ugly monster” or “garbage” or something worse, like 痢 (diarrhea). I’ll be having none of that, thank you.
By the lunar calendar, I was born in the year of the tiger, as were my father, my grandfather, and one of my daughters…
…can you feel the burn? Nope, this is not for me either if only because it would just be too painful.
My heritage being 96% English, people of the forest and fields, I could have a tree inked on my leg, but wouldn’t that require something on the other leg, how about a plow? How about NOT.
Perhaps the Union Jack?
OK, I’m in no particular hurry to get inked <synonym for hurt>, so while I may have decided I might want a tattoo, I have not decided what to tattoo. Again, no hurry.