Tattoo Me, Tattoo Me Not

Anyone who has been reading this blog for awhile knows that I'm not a fan of tattoos. While I'm all for expressing yourself, I just can't buy into all the permanent scribbling that is now being sported by everyone from teenage cashiers to Medicare applicants. I'm standing strong, fighting the ubiquitous trend. Just as I'm sure that I will never be subjecting my hair to another perm, I know that my pasty-white ankles will remain butterflyless.

None of this matters, of course, since my daughter seems to be embracing the craze enough for the two of us. This week, she added to her body art count with a cross/Bible verse combo on her remaining wrist. It's tough to criticize her choice. (What parent wouldn't be pleased that her child was quoting God instead of Lady Gaga?) I just wish she could have had it done in henna or, better yet, engraved it on a nice piece of jewelry.

Her dad's reaction to the reveal was priceless. Mumbling things like 'the mutilation continues' and 'when is this graffiti going to end?' he sent his usual oh-so-subtle message that he wouldn't be pitching his tent in the tattoo camp anytime soon. My hero.

In the end, it doesn't matter what her father or I think. It is her body (despite my occasional reminders that she has one courtesy of yours truly) and she does have the right to "decorate" it as she sees fit. I just hope I'm around when she's searching the Internet (I was going to say 'paging through the Yellow Pages' but stopped myself) for tattoo removal someday.

I'll try my best not to say I told you so.

Am I the Only One?

I was standing in line at the local grocery store the other day when I noticed a grey-haired woman in a checkout line next to mine. She looked a little like my grandma with a frizzy beauty parlor bouffant and sensible shoes. Everything looked as it should until I glanced at her ankle. Right above her sensible shoes was a sunburst tattoo. And that's when I knew. Everyone in the entire world above the age of sixteen, now has at least one of these hideous monstrosities masquerading as artwork. I now have become something I thought was impossible - a rebel.

When my son did a paper in high school on the history of tattoos, he wrote about their use being previously confined to sailors and hardened criminals. Can someone please hurry up and build that time machine so I can be transported back to a time when that was true? I'm all for personal expression but why do I have to look at ugly green snakes crawling up middle-aged calves, barbed wire encircling the tricep of an otherwise beautiful bride, or unreadable words of sanskrit wisdom trailing down the back of a red carpet celebrity. Tattoos may have once been edgy; they may have once been daring but right now they have become something else. Boring.

So I guess I have one more thing to add to my things I know for sure list. I will never subject myself to another perm, I would rather have a root canal than spend five minutes with Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian, and I will never, I repeat never, join the millions of people who think it's cool to have a tattoo. If you ask me, it's a whole lot cooler not to.