A long time ago, in a state far away, and in a mental state that was, apparently, far more liberal than now, I seriously considered getting a tattoo.  OK, seriously considered?  How much of a commitment is that?

In truth, I always thought that I’d have at least one tattoo.  I rather liked the idea of using one’s body to communicate key aspects of one’s personality or to convey ports along the journey.  However, the actual application –the doing it, if you will — wasn’t something I could ever seem to come to terms with.  I mean, I just realized that I don’t have a wedding ring.  I mean, sure I knew it, but I never really considered that it might signify some issue with being able to commit to something long-term.

And honey, long-term is exactly what you’re in for if you get inked.  Easier on than off, and expensive on both fronts.  My “research” states that quality of tattoo is kind of important so you should go for your $150 and up an hour guy, with upwards to $10K for removal.  I’m both spontaneous and whimsical, but I’m not stupid.  This is not something that should be done on a whim.

Which led me to think, what would I want on my body until the end of time?  Well, not much as I discovered.  Sure, there are the amusing ideas such as a cracked pot (people shall see me coming); a ring of mushrooms (otherwise known as the sisterhood of the ‘shrooms) to symbolize education’s tendency to keep us in the dark and fed fecal matter; or even a hill with a flattened body with a boulder at the other end (Sisyphus).  However, who would REALLY get one of those?  Wouldn’t they grow old soon?  I think so.

Then I thought about having Keb’s footprint inked on me, or his signature someplace.  However, who wants their body claimed by their child? I think there are other ways to signify the importance your family holds.  So then I thought about using my spine as a totem, placing our zodiac up my back.  Sounds cool, but it has to be done. What would it look like?  Would I love it?  Would I end up hating it and trying to cover it?  Would it end up being as ubiquitous as a tramp stamp?  See, it’s hard to be individual when you look like everyone else.

Then there’s the truth. To be honest, I’m too cheap and lazy to get inked. Not only do I have to commit to something on my body 24/7, I have to find a tattoo artist, pay the money, and go through the process.  Ugh.  Now, my new goal is to make identifying my body after a tragedy easy for my husband/child.  They can narrow down the prospects in looking for the one person who DOES NOT have a tattoo.  Then they can figure out which of the two of us is me.

I admire people who can make a commitment to wearing the same decoration day after day, hour after hour and year after year.  For me, however, temporary and henna are about the best I can do.


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