Inked

One thing I never considered about tattoos is that it gives free reign for others to comment on your appearance. I agree, Spike's work on my arm is beautiful art. If I didn't think so I wouldn't have made it permanent (difference between a 19 year old decision and a 29 year old decision). That said, I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of people commenting - whether it's a compliment or criticism - on my body or its adornments.

At the VA, when I show up on campus in a tank top after getting hot and sweaty from my bike ride in, I get several comments from vets. These are neither complimentary or critical. Almost all of them have tattoos themselves. Problem is, I think most of them suck. The ink, not the people. So I'm doubly self-conscious - and then what if they're one of my patients? I go my best to keep it under wraps, just for the sake of professionalism, but the dog days of summer pose a little bit of a challenge.

On that note, Alex is getting new ink this Friday. He's been talking about it for a couple years, so I'm glad he's finally pulling the trigger. I guess he told his dad that he had an appointment this week and Paul said, "That's so permanent." I thought that's a rather tactful way to express parental disapproval. I'll have to keep that in mind for when Francie comes to us begging for tattoos and piercings and other newer, weirder adornments like implants or scales or horns or something. "But YOU did it mom and dad," I can hear her saying. Shit, what do I retort? That's so permanent?