INK

When I was in high school, I decided a tattoo would be nice.  I wanted a sun that was about the size of a quarter on my ankle.  A sun because it has no significant meaning to me.  So one day, my  boyfriend and myself traveled to a little town called Dumas.  Tattoos use to be illegal in Oklahoma and lucky for me the most talented tattoo artist lived only 60 miles south of the Oklahoma border.  So I searched and searched for the perfect sun.  Really just looked at the binder that was on the coffee table.  When I showed him the picture and told him I wanted it quarter sized he said no that he could not make it any smaller.  So I did the smart thing and said ok that size is good. 

 

When I returned home, my sister told me that my mom had been looking for me all day and she accidently told my mom that I went to Dumas.  Great.  So when my mom asked if I had been in Dumas all day I lied and acted like she was the total idiot. 

 

For the next few weeks, I wore my dr marten sandals and my long socks to work.  When I got to work I would ditch the socks so that everyone could admire my art.  After my dad made a surprise visit to my work and I had a small heart attack I decided it was time to tell my parents.

 

I told my mom first.  Little background here if my mom was mad at me oh well it was probably because she was over reacting.  If my dad was mad at me I was heartbroken.  So when I told my mom she just stared at me and finally said well you get to tell your dad.  Ok... I tell my dad I have to tell him something...his face went white.  Now I know that if your daughter is in high school says I have to tell  you something, somewhere in your head pregnant pregnant is going to pop up.  So when you say you have a tattoo your dad is not that upset.

 

I am just so glad that I picked something that describes me and is pretty.

Pretty Ugly.