I got a tattoo four years ago. I could make a few blog posts out of that day, but today’s post is about the poor girl who was not in my group who wandered into the tattoo parlor. It was her eighteenth birthday, and her mother had surprised her by picking her up from school and bringing her in to get a new tattoo. Her mother had a somewhat legitimate reason. Apparently, when this girl was fifteen she had gone on a school trip and let a boy give her a prison style tattoo of a heart on her hip. What else the boy had done whilst below her panty line, the girl didn’t say, but the heart tattoo now looked faded and crooked. Proof that just because a sixteen-year-old boy says it will be fun, doesn’t mean you should actually do it.
The girl hadn’t known that her mother was bringing her in, so she didn’t have any idea of what she wanted. There was no deep, meaningful design that she had spent years pondering. Oh no. The mother led her to the wall and told her to pick one of the pictures and she would pay for it to be put over the sixteen-year-old’s debacle.
The nice tattoo man tried to steer the girl toward another heart, or a rose, or better yet, making an appointment for next week when the girl would have had time to think about it. But little heart hip had made up her mind. She wanted a picture of a yellow cartoon bulldog, wearing a diaper, and smoking a stogie.
It was the most ridiculous, unfeminine, not sexy thing I had ever seen, and she wanted to put it in a place only your gyno, waxing lady, or lover should ever see. As I got my well thought out tattoo on the side of my foot, this girl continued to argue with the tattoo man, who, God love him, used every tactic he could to try to get the poor girl to just get a Celtic knot or a butterfly. But she wouldn’t give, and the yellow diapered smoking bulldog will live in infamy inside her panties.
Sometimes I wonder if the bulldog has been covered by a skull or stretched beyond recognition by pregnancy. But every time I think of making a major life choice, I remember her and remind myself that when making a decision, always consider who you might have to explain the bulldog to later on.
For more on my tattoo conundrum, check out this week’s blog post on my author blog at http://meganorussell.com/2014/02/11/to-be-the-tattoo-trigger/.