Daily Prompt Tattoo….You? Do you have a tattoo? If so, what’s the story behind your ink? If you don’t have a tattoo, what might you consider getting emblazoned on you skin?
I had an ironic experience this morning with Word Press; in front of the spot I wanted to write was a pop-up window offering me distraction free writing. OH well, onto the prompt!
“When did you get a tattoo?”
“A few months ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
It was 1993 and that was my best friend referring to the tattoo is on my left shoulder. It’s a Celtic knot. The story of the tattoo is a good story, but one of those good stories one doesn’t want to tell publicly. It was enough that when I was rollerblading with Melanie, she saw it.
It’s not a well-done tattoo. Tattoo-Ted, the artist, from Batavia, Iowa, relocated during Nam to various Namish places, and landing for good in San Diego, had set up his tattoo parlor in the strip of businesses across from the Naval Recruiting Depot. It was a lucrative spot for a tattoo guy. I wouldn’t call Tattoo Ted a tattoo-artist. He was a tattoo-guy who did all the Asian dragons, snakes, chrysanthemums, Navy insignia and pin-up girls traditional with Navy guys. Not for him skulls and hibiscus. It was the early 90s, anyway; the beginning of the tattoo-craze that (IMO) has gone too far and become boring.
At the time, I meant to go back and have it filled in. That would have mitigated some of the crooked lines and smoothed out the uneven ones, but I never did. 45 minutes of the equivalent of being burnt by a cigarette was enough for me.
My biggest fear afterwards was that my mom would see it. Yeah, I was in my 40s but that woman scared me as long as she lived. I could imagine being up at her place in Montana taking a shower and she would walk in to set towels on the counter for me, see the tattoo through the glass shower doors and say, “Is that a tattoo? I didn’t bring you into this world to disfigure yourself” or something like that… Worse, who knows.
And no. I don’t have a picture of it.