"Only Whores Get Tattoos"

There are some days I forget who I am.  Some days I become that woman who ate all the leftover Halloween candy.  (Alright, that was yesterday.)  Other days I become that frustrated women who yells obscenities at her computer.  (Alright, that’s most days.)  Some days I’m just a wife.  Some days I’m just a person stuck in traffic.  Some days guilt, frustration, and impatience take over and I just don’t feel like me—I forget who I am.  That’s when I look down and, with a rush, remember.  Oh, right; I’m a whore.  

I come from a family of whores.  My mother was the first of us three girls to fall, and I officially joined the ranks five years ago with my first tattoo.  I have to say my first tattoo was so small that I considered myself more of a “Girl’s Gone Wild” kind of semi-whore.  But a little over a month ago, I got a second tattoo and this one is big enough for the whole world to see.  I can hide my whorish ways no more.   (OK, OK, I’ll stop being a joke-whore and get to the point…) 

I know I’m a whore because upon seeing my mother’s new tattoo my Grandmother exclaimed in a crowded restaurant, “Only whores get tattoos!”  The scene was right out of “Pretty Woman.”  Everything in the restaurant stopped, and everyone turned to stare at the “whore”—my mother.

 I try my best not to let labels such a these affect me.  (Unless they are designer jean labels.  Then I am affected into buying them.)  So, “whore” or not, this statement didn’t stop me from getting some ink of my own--again.  For my Birthday this past September I decided to get a second tattoo.  (Don’t tell my Grandmother.)  Getting a second tattoo had been a constant question in my head along with, "Where's 30 Rock this season?"  and  "Do fish drink water?"  But this second, much larger tattoo did make me wonder if people would perceive me any differently.   What I didn’t expect was MY perceptions about me changing.  

For six months, I tossed around several designs and finally settled on one.  I knew the image held great meaning for me.  I knew that I adored the design.  I knew I wanted it.  What I didn’t know was the feeling that it would evoke every time I looked at it.  I am reminded that all is well.  I am reminded of love and beauty in the world.  I am reminded that I am not guilt, frustration, and disappointment.  I am learning that my new tattoo might be more me than I am.

 I think I might be a little in love with my new tattoo.  This is a good thing since it doesn’t wash off in the shower with warm soap and water.  Perhaps tattoos really are great perception changers.  I thought I knew who I was, but with the advent of this new permanent ink, I find my perceptions are changing—much like my 80-year old Grandmother’s did.  She dearly loves her tattooed progeny.  My Grandmother saw past the tattoos and into our hearts, while I saw my tattoo and into my own.  However, we still can’t talk my Grandma into getting one.

To learn more about my tattoo, check out BEHIND THE BLOG--it's like the DVD Commentary but without the DVD or Commentary. www.stuffshesaid.com