For my birthday I decided to do something out of character and get a tattoo.
Not! Angelica was going on for awhile now about how much she wanted to get one, and took the plunge last week. She asked me to be on hand for moral support, though all I really did those few days leading up to her appointment was ask repeatedly if she was completely, absolutely sure about getting it. "It's going to be on you for the rest of your life." I can't help but feel like people seem to forget that one significant part of getting inked. I guess I've see one too many ugly ass tattoos, especially those that hold personal meaning. I'd just make a scrapbook.
I'm indifferent about tattoos. I'd never get one, only because I don't think you should put bumper stickers on Ferarri's (comedian Sebastian Maniscalco's eloquently phrased words). And I'm not implying that I think of my body as the automobile equivalent of a Ferrari, nay. Rather, I am of the school of thought that the sleek and refined vehicle exhudes enough mystery, and performance capabilities to draw attention to itself.
Anyway.
Dave did her tattoo that day.
Deep personal meaning.
So cryptic!
And tiramisu for my birthday.
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