Inked

 

Poor Tom Arnold. At the time, getting a tattoo of his new bride's face on his chest seemed like such a romantic gesture. However, more than fifteen years after their bitter divorce I'm sure he has some regret. I can't imagine his girlfriends have been all that fond of seeing Roseanne Barr smiling at them from beneath all that chest hair.

That's the think with tattoos. They're forever.

Our kids have more than a hundred of those little stick-on ones that last  for a couple of days, depending on how regularly they shower. Most of these are animals, insects, and flowers. There used to be a lot of peace signs in the tattoo jar but most of these were used up right away. Our general rule with the tattoos is that they can apply one or two at a time but no more. No sleeves. Or back murals. We have somehow come to the conclusion that a few are okay but too many will inevitably lead to a life of Busch beer, biker gangs, and heroin use. It all begins with one too many sparkly butterflies.

Sometimes they want something a little more permanent - like a Sharpie tattoo. For this they bring me a collection of permanent markers and I make my best tbuzzing noise while coloring in cartoon-ish pictures on arms, backs, and legs. I'm not really much of an artist but can manage a respectable heart, baseball, smiley face, or flower. The kids had friends over this weekend and they wanted some Sharpie tattoos. You always have to wonder what their parents think when they come home with a manly anchor and chain inked onto their arm.

Still, these are playful and, most importantly, temporary. What about the real things? How does one go about deciding what to have permanently colored onto their skin? Olympic swimmer Missy Franklin made that decision this past week when she had the Olympic rings put onto her upper leg, just below the cut of her swimsuit. The rings represented her status as an Olympian and the location ensured that it would only be visible when she wore a swimsuit. She was also careful to pick a spot where, later in life, the rings would not sag into ugly egg-shaped ovals.

In what was a surprise to many people, Tricia got a tattoo last week as well. It was actually something we have both talked about for the past fifteen years. With her birthday approaching I made the joke I was going to get her a tattoo for her gift. Instead of laughing she said, "Okay." Fifty dollars and thirty minutes later she was permanently inked. No, she didn't get a picture of my face or even a skull with a dagger and serpent protruding from the eye sockets. She decided, instead, on a small daisy near her ankle. It's simple, cute, and discreet.  

No sleeve. Or back mural.

But there are plenty more birthdays to come. So who knows.