Last night I went to see a Wake game with some friends. Emily drove me to the game and on the way there I told her about my plan to get a tattoo.
I’ve wanted a tattoo for a long time. Specifically, I want a small cross on the inside of my left wrist. Truthfully, I know I’ll never get it. Not because of the reasons I’ve heard from everyone else: you’ll look trashy, you’ll get tired of it, you’ll wish you hadn’t done it. But because I hate needles more than anything else in the world and would never subject myself to them if it could be avoided.
However, I had mentioned my desire for the tattoo one day at lunch just before Christmas to my family. There were some strong feelings voiced against it. On Christmas morning, one of my gifts was actually addressed to “our tattoo free daughter.”
So, as I told Emily all of this, my dad called. I told him that I was telling Emily about the tattoo I was going to get. He told me to put Emily on the phone. I didn’t hear what he said, but Emily said that some words like “disowned” and “out of the will” got thrown around a lot. Apparently, he’s against it. Specifically he told me that if I got a tattoo I was no longer invited on the family ski trip.
It’s too bad because getting a tattoo was going to go on my list of things to do in 2009 between “learning to scuba dive” and “creating my own website,” but it looks like it will have to wait another few years. At least until I can afford my own ski trips.