I had been an artsy geek kid from as soon as I could hold a crayon. Somewhere after high school, though, she got stashed away into my inner attic. Work and babies and "adulthood" took a front seat.
Then one day in 2009, I started feeling funny. I found myself with a bit of free time, and maybe it was something that I ate. I hurled all over a wall in the basement. It wasn't dainty or tentative at all.
Flowers. Big, bright, vivid, bold colored flowers and vines spilled all over the wall.
It didn't stop with the flower mess. Sea creatures, palm trees, comets... no wall was immune. Even my kids were going all "WTF?" in not so many words. I decided maybe I should get some canvases or something.
I suppose it was inevitable that some would spill on me. Somewhere in all that drunken mess, I ended up with a tattoo.
But it's really not as "rebellious" as some may think. Here in our neck of Colorado, we have about 3 seasons. Fall, winter, and tattoo. It's not just emo's and punks and sluts. I know tattooed housewives, school teachers, college kids as well as tattoed emo's, punks, and sluts.
|"STOP, I MEAN it!!"|
I didn't come up with mine on my own. I found a tattoo artist who designed mine after chatting about it with him a bit. I wanted "pretty", and he added a nice edgy wildness that I like.
I think it gives me street cred in the crosswalk.
|GO, I MEAN it!|
... or in the mud pits.
|Hi, ready for some logic?|
The one thing that does cause me pause is when I meet a new student for the first time. Will they not like having a tattooed tutor? But that has yet to stop anyone.
I awoke one day to find I have a tattoo. I'm sure I'm not the first to have that happen. It splattered onto me during a party. Or maybe it was always there and just emerged.