At my husband for some sideways comment about my weight. ( I’ve admittedly struggled with my mom bod but I have the expectation of my partner to respect my feelings and understand when they’ve been hurt and why) He works with a bunch of his bros where that kind of talk is the standard and meant in friendly jest. I’m not so keen on it.
However I use my anger to overcome a hurdle I’ve been fencing for awhile and finally lay down some tattoo lines on my fleshy fingers. I’d been building it up and overthrowing it for so long that it felt necessary to just do it to get it done instead of fretting about a design or symbol. The lines were clean enough , a little geometric criss cross going down my middle finger followed by a star on my pointer to balance the moon on my ring. It felt good to get it out but the heal will be the real judge for quality.
My husband apologizes when I wake him up to show him. The next day he allows me to lay some ink lines down on him too with my version of a little pirate skull he picked out from a tattoo coloring book some years back.
I’d been warned by my professional friends that the cheaper machines could be a little more biting. He chose his ankle for placement and is quite twitchy during the overall experience even though he has a number of large pieces himself, there’s not much blood at all but we stop before taking a shader to it. Regardless, I feel like the resulting piece came out pretty decent. Many of his friends he shows are complimentary, and I get a few volunteers for future practice. Could have turned out worse.
The following dayis Valentine’s and he takes me to my favorite restaurant, The Brutal Poodle. As always the food is excellence , and an absolute treat since I’m always the one cooking at home.