Tattoos

I'm old school in a lot of my thinking - and I don't really believe in tattoos.  My older son does though, and he has several of them.  The other day he asked me if I would get one with him.  Right away I said no!  Honestly, I'm not just afraid of the commitment, but also the pain.  (Not to mention that my husband would be "less than pleased" as he does not find tattoos attractive either.)

But a few weeks ago, as I was contemplating the approaching of 7/12/14, for about 5 minutes I entertained the idea of getting a tattoo.  It would be simply "7/12/17".  Somewhere where I could see it regularly to remind me to appreciate life in every moment.  Maybe on the inside of my wrist.  But I don't want it to be confused with any allusion to concentration camp tattoos.

And I imagined that when the coroner is doing an autopsy on me, and making note of distinguishing marks, they might see it and realize I had my death date tattooed on my arm.  They might say, "huh, she knew all along".

Odd how human nature drives us to want to be right - even about one's own death.

And in the end (well, not THE end), I decided to order a bracelet from eBay in my favorite Brasil colors and wear it as if it were a tattoo.