Okay. We started out by waiting around awhile. The tattoo guy (tattooer? tattooist?) was drawing Jeremiah's tat from scratcheroni and while I already had mine drawn out (by the art teacher at school) there was some slight altering that needed to be done. So we waited.
Flash forward about 20 years and a little more west of Michigan. Same thing. I was SO excited/nervous/anticipating the tattoo that once he started and I realized that the pain wasn't going to kill me, all that crud went to my belly and I got wobbly. In fact, I turned white and my lips turned blue. Things started to look far away and like they were through a tunnel. Seriously, closest I've ever been to fainting. I was sweating more than Nixon on his television debate against Kennedy. Or more than Lindsey Lohan in court. There was a lot of panic and a lot of me wanting to lie down (wasn't allowed) or lean forward (wasn't allowed). Jeremiah was trying to be supportive but my superhero sense of smell was working overtime and I could smell EVERY smell and the deodorant that he was wearing was not helping me to keep the barf down.
But are you ready for this? I pulled through. No fainting. No yakking. Here I am drinking my second glass of water. I'm all, "See? Fine. Ignore the sweat-soaked clothes and let's get this show on the road! We're burnin' daylight!"
After all that, the tattoo took about five minutes. Seriously. And THEN the guy told me that I got the tattoo in one of the most painful places but hadn't wanted me to know ahead of time and change my mind. Nice.
P.S. Jamming to the Christmas music right now.
P.P.S. If you are wondering about the pain, let me tell you. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst pain imaginable, I would rate this a seven. Maybe six point five. Totally do-able.
P.P.P.S. Girls, when you are getting ready to puke and you are surrounded by men it is up to you to pull your hair back. They will NOT do it for you. Just FYI.