Tatt’s how I like it.
I’ve always had a bit of a funny view on tattoos.
I think it’s very much to do with my commitment phobias. I mean, I can’t stand committing to a guy even short term, let along an inky patch that’s there for life. It’s like committing to a marriage, having this symbol on your body for eternity. It’s a big ask. But we do it because whatever it is meant something to us at one time or another – so it deserves a memorial spot. That’s how smart people decipher it anyways.
Then there’s the classic idiots, who think a Tweetie bird with it’s middle finger up is about as good of an idea as a large Big Mac meal on a big night out. The twats that roll down their grandpa socks at 80 and mumble about what hooligans they were when they were anklebiters.
A funny thing I’ve realised is this. I’m hard pressed to find a single soul who would ever get a tattoo of their wife or girlfriend’s name on their body. Not because they don’t love them like an ice cold beer, but because ‘nothing is forever’ and what if it all goes tits up?
Well – do you think your love affair with Aussie pride and that ill-placed Southern Cross will inhibit you for years to come? Hmm, I’d say not. But you got it because it meant something to you at the time – yet, a loving, totally fulfilling relationship isn’t worthy of a bit of ink? It’s weird isn’t it? The things we’re totally comfortable committing to – and even more so, the things we’re definitely not.
Note: am a big fan of the sparrows up top though. Perhaps not of the total back-sprawlage, but the birds are chipper nonetheless eh?
Do you have any tatts?
What is your most hated ever tatt?
It’s the tramp stamp isn’t it?