Marked Woman

So guys something pretty permanent has just happened in my life; no, I didn’t finally get a puppy, and no I didn’t dye my hair.

I GOT A TATTOO.

Yep, let’s let that sink in. Now, I’ve wanted one for quite awhile, but for me it’s a big decision—I mean it’ll be there FOREVER, it’s like marriage. Till death do us part, well maybe not so marriage like, but you get my point. But in the past several weeks the idea has become more prevalent in my mind, and I decided on:

Bought

1 Corinthians

7:23

“You were bought at a price; do not become slaves of human beings. “

Now you can take it as is, but to me this verse symbolizes a commitment in my life, to be a servant of Jesus Christ, and not to human beings.

So there’s the big news, but as with all things in my life lots of drama was involved! If you know me, you know I’m the youngest child of a Pastor father, and a nurse mother. My parents were really cool about everything, they were totally okay with what I wanted, but you know—they had to be a pain with some things. It was kind of surprising really, I told my dad first what I was planning and his response was:

“You’re so fun, you just get excited about some things!” thank you dad.

My mom, was surprisingly a bit more hesitant sounding, but she was also busy working when I popped the news, so ya know, that may explain some things. Now the night before the big day, my father felt it necessary to text all of his seminary pals:

My youngest daughter is getting a tattoo, pray for me.

To which they all responded within five minutes.

I’d like to highlight some things in this message, first he says my youngest daughter, to emphasize the fact that all his other children have so far made it through life unscathed, and the second bit is ME, don’t pray for HER, pray for ME. Are you kidding me? Story of my life people, that man, love him. He was quite proud of this, and when I yelled at him, he responded with little giggles you’d expect from a five-year-old girl with a pony.

Now the day finally came to go and get the tattoo, and I had gathered myself a posse, also known as Marissa’s emotional support. My mom was to be part of this gang, per her request, but when I went to wake her up her response was:

“Can you go without me?”

Yes mom, I can… thank you for this support.

Doin' the deed...

            *I know I knock on my parents, but for real, I couldn’t ask for any better, I totally love those two.

Now that my posse (consisting of Liz, Emily, Andrew, and Tommy) was assembled, we get down to the parlor, where lots of disaster happens, the tattoo I originally asked for was too small, so we did a quick redesign in the store (no biggie) and then I was asked for ID. And that’s where the problem was, I had forgotten it…so yep, after some really awkward scuttle, my wing-gal Emily and I drove back to my home, retrieved the necessary identification, and returned to our destination. And at that point Liz asked me her appointed question of "Are you SURE" and I said "YEP" a hop skip and a jump later i was in the room.

The room of pain.

VOILA!

Now I’m about the biggest baby you’ve ever met, when I stub my toe you’d think the apocalypse had begun by the screams of anguish. But I can proudly say there where no tears shed, mind you my eyes were a little watery ONLY A LITTLE. But my excellent hand holder, Liz, can attest to my bravery in the face of pain, okay it wasn’t that bad, not even a little…I just live for drama.

Peace ma brothas and sistas.