Sunday, May 17, 2015

Tattoo My Heart, or My Sleeve

I don’t know if it is a mid-life crisis or what, but I want a tattoo. No, I’m not turning 40 (been there, done that) or getting divorced (I hope not) but I do have the urge to shake things up. I’m a pretty mundane person but I do have an alterna streak that runs through me and every couple of years the craving to do something different takes over. At 24 I found bellydancing, at 29 I got my nosed pierced, by 35 I got my first tattoo and now I want a third.

I love tattoos. I love their artistry, I love their sexiness, and I love how they can be unexpected and so out of the box. Okay, I love how they make me feel like a bad-ass. So I’ve been thinking of getting another one. I was a good girl when I got my first two tattoos, I made sure they were in places they couldn’t be seen unless I wanted them to be. Now I want one in a more visible spot, one I can admire on a daily basis. The problem is, of course, my 9-5. But I’m so tempted. As I get older the more I appreciate the idea that life is too short and that you have do what makes you happy. A visible tattoo would make my simple soul happy. And the young'uns are making it hard to resist temptation. They are getting more and more obvious tattoos, jobs be damned. In many ways they are winning. I see tattoos while being served in restaurants, in my doctors’ offices, and barely peaking from suits. Even my new boss has a visible tattoo. I know, it shocked the shit out of me. And again the temptation rears its ugly head.

Perhaps I need to write a bad-ass character with lots of tattoos everywhere. I would give my newest love interest Eli tons of tats, but she’s a professional and can’t have any visible ones either, drat. Oh well, maybe the hero of my next book. Meanwhile I’m still debating whether I should be good or just enjoy being bad—in long sleeves at work J

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