they (who are they, anyway?) say once you get your first tattoo, fuhgeddaboutit. like flies on shit–wait, that’s a terrible analogy–strike that. reverse it. like poppin’ a pringle, once you start, you just can’t stop. eh. i didn’t believe it. this so-called tattoo addiction must be a farce. it took me 28 years to get this virgo sign inked on the back of my neck (hizzle was in attendance and squirming more than me, i think), i can make it through life without another.
famous last words, right?
last may, i got my 2nd tattoo at mooncusser in provincetown, mass, with the ex and two of the most amazing women you will ever meet. (hi donner and laura!) it was there i protested, “i only want one more. no, i swear–just one more.”
but now here i am itching for my 3rd (fleur de lis for my cajun heritage) and thinking about the perfect 4th (outline of a dove) and 5th (equality sign). ruh roh.
i’ve got tattooation, and i’ve got it bad.