A sweet, sweet spray of wild roses adorns someone's body.
Unfortunately, it's not mine.
She was headed for her sixteenth birthday, and had designed her lovely tattoo herself, by taking a detail from a vintage book on flowers. As a resident of New York State, she could not get a tattoo until she turned 18, but she desperately wanted one. As her mother, I drove her to New Jersey for her birthday, where a 16 year old can get a tattoo, with parental consent. There was no birthday trip to the DMV for a driver's permit for my youngest. No siree. She wanted a tattoo.
I decided "Why not get one myself? It's now or never." I chose another detail from the same page in the flower book, a smaller bit that would connect her tattoo to mine. What could go wrong?
First of all, IT HURT. A LOT.
Secondly, I chose a place that is difficult to hide with the clothes in my wardrobe, about six inches above my left breast.
Lastly, it looks like this
Let's play a guessing game.
Name That Tattoo
I'll give a prize to the first person who figures out what this thing is.
And I'll give you a hint: it's not a radish.
