Humans are such strange creatures. We all have a little masochist in us, why else would we pay to have ourselves pierced/waxed/tattoo’ ed?
Piercings are rather painful-and let me just set the record straight, anyone that is trying to tell you otherwise, are just not being completely honest-hey who said that I can’t be diplomatic? It may be that my memory of my belly piercing is slightly tainted because it was a the spur-of-the-moment-I-am-in-the middle-of-a-double-shift-I would-like-to-get-a-hole-shoved-in-my-abdomen-mad-moment (I did warn you in the beginning I am certifiable). I remember looking at my stomach after work and feeling a bit green around the gills and just packing up the cleaning supplies and taking it to a friend to help me because I couldn’t bear to look at it. But do I learn? No, it would take a botched nose piercing, HIV and Hep test, semi botched tongue piercing that remained swollen for weeks, allowing me to lose quite a bit of weight as I could only eat liquidised soup (effective in the weight loss department, but definitely not something I would try again soon) a couple of swallowed pieces of surgical steel later and only then did I get the point that maybe piercings are not really for me.
Personally I am not a fan of waxing either- I tried it once-got stuck to the bath and various other pieces of furnishings (because I was to weak to really give that strip a big ‘ol tug) and for weeks thereafter kept on picking little ‘scabs’ off wax of myself.
But I really let the little masochist in me come out and play when the subject of tattoo’s come up. They are painful, permanent and absolutely addictive-how divine! It really started almost ten years ago in a dodgy little tattoo parlour in Obs, think it was actually called OBS Tattoo Bar. Self-explanatory really, a bar where they served alcohol and the customers got to watch people inflicting pain on themselves (very S&M-come to think of it). The tattoo artist was a bit creepy and made some passing comments about my backside that had me a bit uncomfortable about him staring down in for the next 45 minutes, and the massive window looking out onto the street was not exactly a comfort, but I persisted and 45 minutes later I had my first tattoo. It was marvellous! What a kick! Almost as good as the first time I walked into a bar with my leathers and helmet.
So the bug has bitten me again, and I have decided to dedicate this to the auspicious occasion of my son’s birth (rather late than never) and thus I am to be inked, at Wildfire’s convenience with the following: