DIANA REPUBLIC

In an effort to memorialize my sweet Larry, I got a tattoo on Monday night. Bob took me directly from the vet to the tattoo parlor (is that what they are called? parlors? or am I just old?). I am the proud wearer of a paw print on my wrist. Just a little something to help me think good thoughts about my pooches here and gone on a daily basis (in the event that the scooping of the poop and all wasn’t cutting it).

I have wanted a tattoo for almost four years now and this was not the one that I wanted. I just haven’t gotten around to the grand tattoo yet so this one will have to serve as my starter ink. It was, however, probably the least interesting request the poor tattoo artist had heard all week, if not all month. He was polite, but clearly not engaged. This is his art and I just asked Monet (in his mind, of course) to draw a stick figure. Without meaning to, he made me feel as if I had canceled my tennis lesson and cruised over in my Volvo to regain my youth. No Botox today – I am would like a tattoo, please. Some random guy came over for a look and proclaimed, “Cool”. Clearly in this scenario I was anything but cool. If the idea was to feel younger then I should have grabbed my walker on the way out.

While I realize that my little paw print isn’t going to get me into the Hell’s Angels, I like it. Thankfully I did this on a day when I wasn’t the least bit interested in what anyone thought of me. And tattoo number two – the one that will celebrate my sobriety and remind me of my inner strength – that one is next. It will not be any more bad-ass than the one that I just got. It will be somewhat girly and will probably make the tattoo artist want to tell me to go to the mall. But I will have canceled my mani/pedi, gotten a sitter and found a safe place to park my Beamer…Seriously dude, just scar me and me take my money.