mil thought it would be a great anniversary treat to get a tattoo of the roman numeral II for our second anniversary. i wasn't quite game. not because i've got anything against tattoos, but because i've gotten used to my body as it is... ink-free. while mil's managed to get 5 tattoos in his relatively short lifetime, i've only gotten up the guts to get a measly navel ring. i wasn't sure that at 29, i was ready to do something that most people start at a much younger, more impetuous age. that and i really wasn't sure how i would break it to my parents. i still get sarcastic comments on the navel ring every now and again, and i've had that for eight years. no doubt my father would pummel me with an endless barrage of questions. ("so, why did you think it'd be smart to get a tattoo? how old are you? you realize that thing is never going go away?") even as i play with the idea after passing a particularly dingy-looking ink shop, i start thinking about where i'd want such a tattoo. on my wrist? no, too obvious. on the back of my shoulder? nah, mil likes 'em where he can see 'em. on my ankle? no, too common. i blamed my indecision on the location, but in truth, it was the idea of it that wrankled me. i'm just not the type.. whatever that is. at least that's what i thought until i saw how hot wood looks with her new tattoo. she's my age, and she pulled off a colorful number while her young daughter played with blocks in the lobby. maybe if i have a kid, i can be that cool, too. not bloody likely though.
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