Ink

So, here's the latest edition to my little collection of body art. Just inked this morning by a very talented woman who looks and talks more like a hair dresser than a tattoo artist. (No visible tats whatsoever- slightly unusual. Most inkers I've met have large and extensive collections of sometimes very disturbing tattoos.) At any rate, it only took about 15 minutes and I'm pleased to say that there was no screaming on anyone's part. Mr. DD graciously offered to stay home with the Prawn so that a girl friend could come with me and that we could go out shopping and to lunch afterwards. I could just lick him sometimes.

The tattoo parlour I frequent is probably much like every inkery in the known universe. Giggling teenagers anxious for belly rings that will inevitably piss off their parents, staff with enough facial jewelry to set off airport metal detectors and walls covered in flash. The woman who did my tat had, in her portfolio, a picture of a design that she once did on the sole of someone's foot, which, I have to admit, made me feel slightly queasy. You would have to hold me down with the anchor of the Queen Mary to let someone do that to me.

Some of the things that people have immortalized into their flesh absolutely astound me. One begins to see the reason for the rule that most reputable parlours abide by in respects to not inking the inebriated, because the sober often have bad enough taste just on their own. Once, while perusing a coffee table book on unusual tats, I came across a jaw droppingly awful piece of ink (which I had a quick troll on the internet to see if I could find, but I abandoned the search after coming up with too many disturbing results) that consisted of a number of stylized and brightly colored penises strung in a necklace around a woman's neck. One of them even said "Mom" which brings up all kinds of Freudian questions that don't bear thinking about. It was obviously a labor of love for the artist, and one would hope, for the poor, cracked cow who now has to live with this chamber of horrors permanently etched into her flesh for all time. Apparently, this particular tat is well known in the ink slinging trade and was done by an artist called Dave Lum. There are actually forums where tattoo enthusiasts debate the ethics involved in doing such a piece of work. Mr. Lum, if you're out there, more power to you, but you are a twisted, twisted man.

I am pleased to say that there will be no colorful cock necklaces in my immediate future. As a matter of fact, I'm not entirely sure how many more times I'll go under the needle. Excepting a similar tat for the birth of, I hope, our second and last child, I'm not sure how many more bits of ink that I need. I have to admit to a small fantasy of the Prawn asking me to join her for mother/daughter tattoos on her 18th birthday, but it could be that she decides to be a nun or something and doesn't really want ink ruining her chances at being Mother Superior, but who knows what the future holds?

I'm a pretty big coloring book. I've still got some blank pages left.