Ma Vie En Rose

Last week’s cold, rainy Friday, I went off to finally get my rose tattoo done.  After years of turning it over in my head, fantasizing, and saving up money, months of appointments and consultations, and days of preparation for the pain, I finally went through with it and felt…amazing.

During the appointment, the pain was just as intense as I had imagined.  NOTE:  I DID NOT CRY.  I clenched all my muscles and made ridiculous faces.  Here’s a couple choice faces:

I apologized profusely to Becca, the wonderful artist at North Star Tattoo, who designed my tattoo, for my faces.  She said it didn’t bother her any as long as I didn’t move.  I did notice, however, that the guy on the table next to me, also getting chest work done, draped his shirt over his face.  I assumed at the time, that this was to help him relax, but further reflection has led me to conclude that he draped the shirt to conceal his own bizarre pain faces.

After it was done, it felt a bit sore.  The desk clerk, Scott, asked me if it felt “spicy.”  “Very spicy indeed,” I concurred, and “spicy” has been my way of thinking about it ever since.  Prickly and a little sore, that’s exactly the feeling!  There was also an unexpected high (perhaps from holding my breath during the more ouchie parts?) afterwards.  I walked in the rain to K-Mart to buy lotion and soap for aftercare.  I got a little flustered at the checkout, and apologized to the cashier.  She had noted my bandage, and that I seemed a little spacey.  I was spacey, spicy, and thrilled all the way home.

I thought my massive bandage looked like feudal Japanese armor.  My flatmate (and many other friends) disagreed, saying it looked like a trash bag taped to my chest.  O ye of little imagination.

Finally, after four hours of waiting in spicy spaced-outness, I was allowed to remove the bandage…wash and apply lotion (the most painful part of the process, after the actual…you know…needle) and give a ghost tour in the pouring rain.  I got splashed by a bus in Times Square, soaked to the skin!  But amazingly, the pain afterwards was minimal!

I have a few more appointments to get the color filled in, but I am so ecstatic at finally having gotten this done.  I told very few people about it beforehand, so it would be a surprise.  It’s amazing to me after years of tattoo lust, that I have such a cool one of my very own.  One of my friends said, “People tend to forget about the pain of labor after the baby is born,” and it’s very true.  The hour of needles in my dermis pale in comparison to how awesome it is to show off my new artwork!  I can’t wait for it all to be finished – stay tuned!

I know that my title, stolen from an Edith Piaf song, actually means something like “My life in
pink,” but since I don’t speak French (though I do know what nonpareil
means, remember, candy store), I’m using it anyway.

LAST WORD:
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I don’t want to see this beautiful thing end, and neither do you. 
Let’s try to make it work, baby, we can beat the odds! 
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