I always said I liked tattoos, but I didn’t want to get one because it was so permanent. I never even thought about how painful it would be to get one. I thought very little about the fact that I might not be able to donate blood anymore, or worse, contract a blood borne disease. All I cared about was…what if I wake up one day and realize that I don’t like it anymore? Or whatever I imprinted on my skin isn’t really “me” anymore? Hassle, pare.
And think about it, how would it look like when I’m all old and wrinkly and saggy? Nyerk.
But so much has already changed for me these past couple of years that now I find some comfort in minor things that are constant. Before I knew it, one random day I just said, “Okay. I want to get inked.”
With that, my kaladkarin friend and I set an appointment at Gene Testa’s in Robinson’s Galleria so I can get this on my skin:
Any close friend of mine would know where that line is from. If you don’t, shame on you, our friendship is a lie. Hahaha!
In fairness, it wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. I saw episodes in Miami Ink where clients would pass out from the pain, so I kinda expected tears or at least a heavy stream of curses and complaints. Not bad. I also expected the pain to be like a series of needles poking at you continuously, but in actual, I think it felt more like my skin was being burned.
I am LOVING the tattoo so far! I think even when I do get all wrinkly and saggy, I can still say I’m a badass grandma.