So I got a tattoo recently. Its shit…
How do I feel? Well,
you see, that’s a complicated one. I know, on a logical level, that it’s not so
shit that people would look at it and think “Oh fuck, you poor unfortunate soul
“(in the style of Ursula from The Little Mermaid in case that wasn’t immediately
obvious). But it is bad enough that I will have to do something about it. Which
upsets me just a tad because I am super vain and I spent a lot of time thinking
about what this tattoo would be. As a feminist, it felt important to me to
showcase that proudly to the world – which is why I got one of the most
empowering symbols of femininity out there, the Vesica Piscis. But I’ll leave
it to the more articulate robots on google to explain the intricacies of this
symbol.
Back to the point – I was excited, and to have that
excitement turn sour like the milk your about to pour on those coco pops you’ve
been craving since last night is I imagine how Aurora must have felt when she
pricked her finger on the spinning wheel and fell into a deep sleep. On the plus
side, this bad tattoo won’t make me fall asleep for ages, but on the negative
side a kiss from my true love won’t fix it either. So to put this convoluted
mix of metaphors and similes to bed – I’m not best pleased.
But I’ve always been quite good at not thinking too much
about bad stuff, so there is that. I reckon if I just get someone who actually
knows their shit when marking another human beings skin for life to make the
lines a little thicker, that it might turn out okay, but still – not ideal eh?
Anyway, I’m just going to take a leaf out of Sinatra’s book
and keep on singing (not to be confused with Dory's famous mantra)... That's Life.
