Marion’s fascination with tattoos had always come from the stories that were held within the ink—the ones that were obvious, slamming into your vision with the force of a well-aimed fist, or the secret messages that hid, slipping out only for the moment it took for a shirtsleeve to move, a skirt to flutter.
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Of all the postings I've written over the past five years, the top post every day and all time is the one I did on my kids' tattoos. :<)
Just went and searched out your tattoo post, Nan. Fifteen years later, I'm still working on accepting a certain Pink Floyd The Wall tattoo--a son's rite of passage.
And as much as I'd love to get "inked," I can't decide what I'd want. Or where I'd want it. I still like the henna ink I had done on my upper arm a couple of summers ago. You can see it here. The ink was still fairly new, so it was a little more "poofy" than it looked later in the week.
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