The story of the Tattoo

Synopsis - This is just a little story I wrote to be silly and bring a smile to the faces of my children - they are the ones who bought me the gift certificate for the tattoo.

It was my 42^nd birthday and I was feeling old. What have I done with my life? I obviously have not cured cancer or became a famous writer. I want to do something with my life! I want to be somebody and be important!

A light bulb goes off above my head, suddenly I have an IDEA! It’s time to go to the store and buy another pack of light bulbs! (I am so smart some days…) As I am walking down the aisle of the local supermarket I have another idea, perhaps it is time to review my bucket list. For those of you unfamiliar with a bucket list it is a list that us old people create of things we want to do before we die, not that I am planning on dying anytime soon, heck no, I am going to live long enough to teach my grandchildren how to food fight and eat chocolate cake for breakfast. But it never hurts to get started on lists early, that way you can do the fun things twice J

Reviewing my bucket list I see a dozen or so things I want to do that might not cause my family to have me locked up in a psychiatric ward (some days I just know they already have the straight jacket on order).

After much deep thought (and a couple margaritas) I decide on getting a tattoo. That’s right, the person who runs at the sight of a needle, taking out doctors and nurses in her path has written “get a tattoo” on my list, thinking about this I decide I need to hunt this person down and kill them but that will have to wait, right now, for some crazy unknown reason I decide that getting a tattoo is actually a good idea.

My idea is met with a couple of giggles from the family as I make my great tattoo announcement. Someone mutters something about a poor doctor who is still in the mental ward from the conversation I had with him when he tried to give me a flu shot. Those rumors are just not true! He is not in a mental ward - he retired from the medical profession and took up bear wrestling as he felt it was less dangerous to his psyche.  

My family’s reaction has spurred me on to action! I will show them! I can do this! I am She-Ra, female warrior! I can do anything! (Except laundry, dishes and poop patrol the back yard). They will take back their sarcasm and doubt! They will stand in awe of my bravery! I will get this tattoo done before my next birthday and they will stand and applaud me, stories will be told about my courage and legends will be born!!!!!

Exactly one month before my 43rd birthday I am entering the tattoo parlor with resolute determination. My eldest daughter is there with me, I am holding her hand and assuring her that everything will be alright, she is scared and worried for me. For some unknown reason she remembers it the other way around but you know how young people are, they get so caught up in their fears that they just cannot face reality.

The tattoo artist makes her way over to us and smiles an angelic smile. “Are you ready?” she asks. A beautiful halo floats serenely above her head and butterflies flit around her, playfully weaving in and out of the rainbow that has appeared over her left shoulder.

“I was born for this” I state, simply.

“Then let’s make our way to the back room and get started”

Somewhere between the lobby and the back room the artists’ halo begins to fade as horns start to appear and her skin begins to turn a deep crimson red. At this point I am somewhat concerned but I will not let this minor change of reality deter me from my mission. I am She-Ra, female warrior! I can do anything!

This demon beast that stands before me points to a chair that lies flat, not unlike a dentists’ chair. I skillfully hop up into the seat and lie down with my belly flat on the surface, this way she can have access to my back to do her work.

Suddenly and without warning tentacles leap up from below me and wrap themselves around my body, making any type of struggle a moot point but I am not afraid, I will not be intimidated. Somewhere I hear a small plea for mercy but the voice gets lost in the maniacal laughter that erupts from my antagonist. Flames shoot up from below me and for some reason the heat only sears my shoulder, right where the beast is filleting my skin with its pointedly sharp, ten inch long fingernail. I hold back the wave of terror that starts to overtake my senses. I refuse to become a statistic; I will survive this onslaught, if only to save others from a similar fate.

Hours turn into days and days turn into years as I endure wave after wave of torture.

The beast must have sensed that I was not going to surrender for she stopped her attack as suddenly as she started. My skin was red with raised blisters and surely would require some sort of surgical procedure to repair the damage that had come from centuries of this relentless attack.

As I walked out of this dungeon my daughter looked up at me and smiled, her mother had survived!

Smiling back at her I thought about the battle that had consumed the better part of the afternoon, yes, I had survived…

I knew I would. For I am brave, I am She-Ra, female warrior……

Survival instinct

     Imagine if you will, that it’s a peaceful morning, the leaves are still wet with dew from the prior    evenings’ downpour. Perhaps in the distance you can hear the sweet sing song of the chickadees.

It was a morning much like this when our family hike turned into an adventure that has left permanent scars upon my psyche.

My husband, our children and I had been walking our dogs along a nature trail that is located somewhere between Anchorage, Alaska and “hey, I think we are lost”. When Thor decided that enough is enough and he is going to stop walking all together to protest the cruel treatment of making him get his paws all muddy.

Silly dog, doesn’t he remember that I am the alpha of this family pack?

There is no way he is going to get the better of me so I trudge along, gently pulling his lead as I say “Would you like a treat Thor?” “Just a few more steps boy and I will give you some yummy treats”. This goes along for a few hundred more yards until we get to the base of a fairly large mountain. I don’t care what my husband says, it is not a mole hill, it is a mountain, and I can prove it because it has a name, Mount Sonuvabitch.  

Upon seeing this mountain Thor decides to turn around and hitchhike home. Luckily the trail is slippery and he cannot get traction. I giggle as I watch him do his personal impression of Scooby Doo running in place.

Then, it hits me, how am I going to get Thor up this mountain trail? I have no more treats and it will be hard enough climbing up let alone trying to accomplish this feat with a dog pulling in the opposite direction. I contemplate for a moment on this problem, calmly reminding myself that I am the alpha and he must do as I say. 

Fast forward several hours.

My back is killing me as I have just carried, pushed and pulled my 50 pound bull terrier up this steep mountainside trail. I am sore, out of breath and my face is turning a lovely shade of pearl white. I have also ventured into creating new and profound swear words that only a dog can understand.

At this point I decide to meander over to the other side of the trail and enjoy the breathtaking view from the height of this majestic mountain. Thor accompanies me trying to pretend that it’s perfectly normal for a dog of his size to be carried around like a backpack. 

All at once my lovely fur ball either sees some small critter or he has just decided that Payback will be hell for dragging him up here, he takes off at full terrier speed with me attached to his lead. I don’t bother trying to hold my Ground, as the ground is wet and muddy from the previous nights’ rain storm. My only hope is to stay upright and keep up.

O MY GOD! The dog Who wouldn't climb to save his own life has suddenly developed agility beyond measure as he drags me down this huge mountain side (was that a BEAR that I just slid past?!). My spouse yells DUCK! (In between gales of laughter) just at the time I get whacked in the face with a tree branch and I spend the rest of this descent on my back hoping my nose is not broken.

When we get to the bottom of the mountain side does my dog apologize? Absolutely not! Does he make sure I am not crippled for life? Nope. He immediately decides to dig up a new playmate and kick the dirt right in my face as I lay there helplessly waiting for a medical airvac helicopter to rescue me.

Now after I have told you all of this you have to wonder, where was MY survival instinct when I said Honey, let’s get a Bull Terrier!!