ME AND MY TATTOO

By: B -- 7/10/06

I got a tattoo recently. I don’t exactly know why.

I’ll spare you my long-winded explanation about the motivating factors behind my decision to finally get a tattoo, saying only that it helped to temporarily diminish this annoying quarter-life crisis I’m going through. Truth is, I was tired of being the guy who always talked about getting a tat someday, but never actually going through with it. So, as I was aimlessly driving past a tattoo parlor one day, I pulled over and stopped in. One hour and two c-notes later, I was headed home with a bandage on my arm. Done and done.

It was probably a stupid decision. I’ll fully admit that. The design has no historical significance; no heartfelt experience or memory that necessitated a lifelong memorial. I got a tattoo simply because I can, and because it helps me feel young and independent and spontaneous. Those are all stupid reasons, I’m sure, but I like making stupid decisions every now and again. I’m all too stable and suburban to begin with (my burgeoning complex is well documented), so acting stupid, in a way, helps me feel alive, pathetic as that may seem.

But this isn’t about my reasons for getting the tattoo. This is about my experience since.

Because I’m an attention-starved jackass, I show my tattoo to everyone I know. If there’s even three seconds of a conversation lull, there I am, eagerly yanking up my shirt sleeve to display my artwork, a beaming smile on my face. Hey, check out how crazy I am! I figure, if nothing else, it’s bound to serve as a suitable conversation starter.

And it has. Nearly every time I show off the tattoo in mixed company, a conversation about it soon follows. And since aimless chit-chat makes the world go ‘round, that should be a good thing, right?

Thing is, it’s not the type of conversation I was envisioning. I’d anticipated a light-hearted roundtable discussion about other cool tattoos, favorite designs, ideal locations, pain thresholds, etcetera. Unfortunately, the dialogue rarely swings in that direction. Instead, I’m typically greeted with a wince and a, “Gee, don’t you think you’re going to regret that when you’re old?”

It’s such an odd question. Even though I’ve been asked it dozens of times, it never fails to surprise me a bit. I pull my shirt sleeve down, disappointed in the person’s neutered reaction. Regret it when I’m old? Well, who gives a shit? I’ll be old. You said so yourself. Worried about a silly little design on my arm?

You know what, I hope I am. My life would have to be pretty flawless for me to spend time stressing this tiny tattoo in my silver years.

Let’s consider the average elderly person. They’re coping with a plethora of physical limitations and health concerns. Most geriatrics spend their days popping dozens of pills (doctor-prescribed – not even the mind-altering kind), hobbling up flights of stairs, cursing their family for never visiting. There’s no way a tattoo would even enter the realm of their consciousness as a cause for worry or regret. Can you picture the conversation?

Me: “Grandpa, you been feeling okay lately?”

Grandpa: “Not so much. I just got prescribed some new cholesterol medication, my heart hurts when I drink a glass of wine and the damn neighbor’s dog keeps us up all night. Your grandma bought some pickles at the grocery store a few days ago and we still haven’t been able to get the jar open. Let’s see, what else…we got a new remote control for the television a month ago and I haven’t been able to turn the thing on since. And cripes, my knees have been killing me, I haven’t slept past 6 am for at least a month, my eyesight is so bad I can’t even read street signs anymore…. But to be honest, you know what’s really bothering me? This goddamn tattoo I got 40 years ago. Man, do I ever regret that decision.”

Give me a break. You could imprint one of my grandparents with a full back tattoo image of Jesus Christ blowing Osama Bin Laden and it wouldn’t even crack the top 20 on their list of things to worry about. So, to answer your question, squares of the world: no, I don’t think I’m going to regret my tattoo when I’m old. And even if I do, I’d rather regret a slightly stupid, yet ultimately harmless decision than regret never doing anything out of the norm during my quickly-evaporating formative years.

So yeah, I’m the guy that got a tattoo simply to feel younger, empowered, unique. I’m silly and superficial, which I freely admit is not the best combination of traits.

But there are worse things to be.

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