Think Ink

I was 10 when a new neighbor moved in across the street. She had a wriggly pug puppy, and a tattoo of a rose on her ankle. My mom mentioned the tattoo to me like it was a danger to our neighborhood, how "classy" women didn't have tattoos.

The first chance I got, I scooted across the street to see her dog and almost immediately asked about the tattoo. She was wearing short leggings (hey, it was the style back then) that stopped a couple of inches above the rose. I didn't think I really liked her rose, but I liked the idea of it. And I definitely liked the idea that I suddenly could make up my own mind.

Fast forward to college, when everyone and their brother was suddenly getting inked on every possibly inch of their bodies. My roommate Lissa decided she wanted to get a tattoo, so we went to the shop where I'd had my navel pierced a few months earlier. We spent forever looking at the samples on the walls (called flash) and finally she chose a design of a lily. She paid her money and we went into the back room with the artist. First he used deodorant(!) to apply the transfer (the temporary ink that he would tattoo over) to her shoulder. Then he handed her a mirror so she could look at the placement ... and her face fell.

"I don't think this is what I want after all," she said. "I just don't think I like it."

"Well, what don't you like?" the tattoo 'artist' asked impatiently.

"I don't know ... It's just not me."

"Well, you better hurry up and decide because otherwise you're wasting my time," he snapped.

Lissa decided that the tattoo was NOT her, and this guy was NOT the guy to ink her forever anyway. He refunded all her money except for $20 and we burst out onto the street in relief.

Over the next few weeks, Lissa kept drawing and drawing until she created her own unique design -- not something hanging on the wall in a shop that anyone could get. She created something just for her, a moon rising over water. We researched shops and found another place where the employees were experienced and understanding. They were polite and welcoming and didn't just try to rush us in and out as fast as they could.

With a couple of friends watching, Lissa got the tattoo she wanted (with some artistic updates from the tattooist). A couple of months later, she got a second tattoo there. This time our friend Jeremy drew it for her.

Meanwhile, I knew wanted some sort of ankle band, but I hemmed and hawed over the prices and the pain (I was terrified of the thought of being tattooed on the back of my ankle). I broke down and got a generic tattoo (not flash, but I found it on the Internet) on my back. It hurt a ton anyway -- and hadn't I learned a lesson from Lissa? No, I guess not.

After awhile, I started to hate that tattoo. It's not me and even though it was expertly done, I am planning to have it covered over in the future with something much more 'me.' I wish I'd thought about it for longer.

My second tattoo, about six months later, was more meaningful for me. At the time I was corresponding with a lot of important people in my life by mail -- yes, real mail, not the electronic kind. So I chose a design that was on my stationary, to remind me of those people in my life, and when to listen to them ... and when to trust myself. I love this tattoo and it still reminds me of that time in my life.

But I still wanted that ankle band. Even after a couple of years, the desire still tugged at me. Not really serious, I asked my friend Aly, who's a great artist, to draw me a band of ivy and stars. (Kind of a long story ... but both sets of my grandparents had all this ivy in their backyards and I loved it. And after two of them died, I liked to pretend that they were stars watching over me from the sky.)

Aly followed though -- I wasn't really expecting her to! -- and surprised me with several gorgeous designs in the mail. (What is it with me and mail? Seriously). The designs were beautiful, but overly complicated for a tattoo. I tucked it into my desk and pondered.

Finally, the guy I was dating at the time decided he would pay for it as a present to me. (Note the phrase "the guy I was dating at the time" -- NEVER get an S.O.'s name inked on you ... please.) I left the design with a tattoo artist at my new favorite shop so he could have some time to simplify it, and made an appointment for a couple of weeks out.

For the first time, instead of being afraid of the pain, I was excited! Because I knew it was really what I wanted, and I'd been waiting for so long (well, a few years, but still). I knew it was destiny when, just as we were about to get started, my artist slipped my favorite CD into the stereo.

Surprisingly, the part I was most afraid of (getting tattooed on the back of my ankle) really wasn't any worse than the rest of it! I can't remember how long it took, but I think I pretty much got to listen to the whole CD. Then he wrapped up my ankle and I limped across the street for some lunch. I was almost too excited to eat.

Several years later, this is still my favorite tattoo. I love to wear cropped pants or skirts that show it off. I was worried at first that my ankle band would ruin my look when I wanted to dress up.

But honestly? It's part of me, and one of my favorite parts. You don't get to choose your nose or your height or many other things about your body. So what you can control is important. You don't want to regret something in the future (like dating the wrong person), but like true love, when tattoos are right ... they're really, really right.