"Billy, what have you been up to?" you might well ask. And I might answer:
"Getting a monkey on my back."
Shortly after my mother died, and my uterus was ripped out, I decided to get a tattoo. I'd avoided marking myself up for years, but with a newly-scarred body I figured I had nothing to lose. And it seemed a suitably twisted way to mark a pretty major year in my life.
That was two and a half years ago. I asked my father, an artist, to design my tattoo. In typical fashion for my family, it took me about a year to figure out what I wanted the tattoo to be. It took my dad another year and a half to start the design, and then he whipped it out in about an hour. We Billys raise procratination to an art form.
So, Dad's design was beautiful. But it wasn't right for my tattoo. So I found another design online.
Then I had to find the tattoo artist. I accosted illustrated strangers on the bus, in the pub, on the street. "Where did you get your work done?"
I surfed tattoo websites. I haunted tattoo parlors.
Finally, I found Idexa at Black & Blue Tattoo.
First we made an appointment to discuss the design. I brought her the design I'd found online, my dad's design, pictures of my dad's work. We made an appointment for a couple of weeks ahead to look over her design & make any final adjustments.
Then we made an appointment for the inking.
To be continued...