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Friday, October 2, 2009
O.K., it's not the greatest picture, after all trying to take a picture of your right arm with your left hand is not that easy of a task! However, I thought it time to come out of the tatoo closet. Yes, I have a tatoo. On my arm. My forearm. My right forearm. Yes, I did it. Two years ago, I decided to fulfill my dream of being daring and getting a tat. So I had this done in memory of my father, who by the way hated tatoo's. But I did it anyway. I wanted this on my back on the shoulder, but because my cat, who rode on my shoulders had destroyed it with scratch marks, I couldn't have it placed there. But I was not leaving without my tatoo. So I daringly had it placed on my forearm. It has special meaning to me. Our father was a beekeeper, gardener, and butterflies were our symbol for him. He had written a special puppet script and show about the butterfly. It was beautiful, and at Dad's funeral, we all wore butterfly pins. So that's why this is so special to me. Did it hurt? Hardly. Was I scared? Surprisingly no. Would I do it again? In a heart beat. Am I any different now than before I got it? Nope. I'm still me.