At the age of thirty, I got a tattoo near my right hip when I was at the beach in Delaware. My flight attendant friends and I were there for the weekend to celebrate a colleague who was getting married the following month. There had been a lot of talk about getting a tattoo and after day drinking, we all went in with our specific choices of what to get. Such a great thing to seal the weekend fun and remember it forever!
When we arrived at the tattoo parlor, I decided upon my design for a tattoo before the others did and volunteered to go first. I got a white daisy. It was my wedding flower. I loved it. After an hour, I came out to show my flying pals, however by this time, they were all pretty much sober. I excitedly showed them mine and then said, "OK, so who's going next?" They all couldn't look at me. NONE of them were going next. Well, I won't ever forget that weekend. In fact, I should send this as a story idea to the producers of my new favorite TV series, PAN AM.
When O was three years old, she asked me why I colored on myself. I told her it was because I like pictures of beautiful things that make me happy. It's like my postcard from the beach in Delaware.
When O was four years old she realized it was still there. "Mommy, why do the tattoos I get wash off and your tattoo doesn't?" To which I asked, "Good question. Why do you think mine doesn't wash off?" She replied, "Because you wanted it to stay there forever." "You are right!", I said.
This past summer at age five she asked, "Mommy, can I get a tattoo?"
"That will be up to you when you are a grown up." I said.
"How old are you when you are a grown up? she asked.
"I was thirty." (debate that among yourselves)
"How old was Bapa when he was a grown up and got his tattoo?" (My dad has a tattoo around his exit war wound that says "COMP USMC" which stands for compliments of the United States Marine Corp.)
"Bapa always says he will never grow up, but he got his tattoo when he turned sixty five."
Over the last ten years, I have noticed the fading of the flower and after just turning forty I thought it would be a perfect time for me to fix it up. I was on a mission. I began asking everyone about their tattoos. I commented on every tat I saw and every conversation always led me to telling the stranger that I had one that I wanted to alter. These tattooed people were always willing to offer recommendations on where I could go to get mine changed. After all, drunk at the beach and getting a tattoo is a whole different mission than fitting one in at Tyson’s corner while shopping. (Look who’s all grown up now!)
O had heard me ask strangers questions about tattoos so many times that she brought it up one day when we were playing barbies. I was pretending to be Merleah, from the Barbie mermaid movie and she was Barbie Hannah asking Merleah about her tattoos and where to go to have one changed. (The Barbie, Merleah has two tattoos, one on her belly and one on her arm.)
Most of the recommendations that I received were for a tattoo parlor in Georgetown called JINX. I originally wanted to make it a date night. That is, up until I realized that my husband couldn't go in the back with me and hold my hand while they injected ink in my skin using a needle (he also wasn’t going to wait in the lobby with all the tattoo and piercing enthusiasts).
Regardless, I sent some of my dearest friends an email asking for ideas on a revamped design for my daisy. I received a few JUST GET IT REMOVED texts, however, most of them were intrigued and did not hesitate to offer lots of thoughtful suggestions, many at my expense.
I’d encourage all of you to make a mental note that if you ever have a really bad day to send a note to your dearest friends asking them what kind of tattoo they could see on you! Just be prepared.
The best came from my girlfriend DeeDee who came back with the idea that since it's a daisy, I should add the words “Daisy Duke” next to it to highlight my country heritage. She also suggested that I add a tattoo on the other hip of Bo and Luke Duke jumping in the General Lee with Sheriff Rosco B. Coletrain and Boss Hogg chasing after them all the way around my waistline. I did have a preteen crush on the Duke boys, but I passed on the idea.
After a conversation with a gentleman at the tattoo parlor about my wish to find someone who could create something that was a reflection of me, I was directed to setting up an appointment with a creative tattoo artist named Matthew, a Buddhist. So I set up a consult for an appointment today.
So as I said, I have asked my friends, family and even some strangers what they thought might symbolize me. They all had different creative ideas, including symbols of peace, yoga and wine glasses. As I journeyed further in my quest, I realized that tattoos should not be chosen by someone else. It’s my symbol and I’ll decide. So I did.
The daisy flower represents growth as it goes from a seed to a beautiful bloom. The name for the daisy flower derives from "days eye", because it opens at sunrise and closes at sunset, (my two favorite times of day) and during the 60's the daisy was almost as popular as the peace sign symbolizing the peace movement. Why not fix it up and add color.
Now, what color? Orange has been my favorite color for the last few years. I will do orange. Wait. What's orange stand for? Some google searches led me to Frank Sinatra who was quoted saying, "Orange is the happiest color." A few more searches and I summarized orange represents creativity and radiates warmth and energy. Perfect.
I met Matthew at 12:30. He was gentle natured and kind. He was a good listener and open to my ideas. After coming to a decision with Matthew's artistic thoughts added, I asked if he had time to do it today. He said he did. It was 12:45 and O didn't have to be picked up till 4:00. Perfect. I have plenty of time.
As I was walking out of the tattoo parlor in Georgetown, one that I highly recommend BTW, my girlfriend, who's daughter has a long standing play date on Wednesday's with O, texted me to let me know that Ella was sick. I looked at my watch and realized it was 1:36 then I did what any mother who's walking out of a tattoo parlor on an early pick up day does, I screamed a curse word. Because the tattoo parlor happens to be around the corner from the every day line up of over 100 people waiting for a $2.75 cupcake, they all turned to me with a look of disgust like I had upset the peace in my public display of frustration. I didn't care. I had less than nine minutes to make it to the bus stop and traffic in Georgetown on a rainy day is never easy.
Quickly, I dialed my girlfriend, G. She assured me she would pick up O at the bus stop and I can take my time. ERRRRCCHHHHHH! That was the noise my car made as I turned around the corner and flew over the bridge arriving at the bus stop with five minutes to spare. As I parked my car near the stop, G walked up to my car and giggled as she asked about the car, since it was not my usual SUV, but instead a rented mini van. I laughed and said, "My husband likes to call me hot mama in a mini van."
She laughed, "Why were you in Georgetown?"
I replied, "I was getting a tattoo of course."
"G, Thanks for almost saving me."
"No worries." she said, "What kind of tattoo did you get?"
"I can't talk about it. It's all so unbelievable. Today was early release day and I almost missed the bus because I was at the tattoo parlor fixing a tattoo to represent joy, creativity and peace. The only tattoo I needed was the one that says '1:45 pm Wednesday' so I won't ever forget again. Kindergarten SUCKS!"
