"Yeahhh...we're going to a tattoo parlor after this."
Jessica looks between Tiffany and me like we're crazy and then rolls her eyes because she knows that she's stuck coming with us. We're having dinner (Tiff and I are enjoying a few drinks to prepare ourselves) and I'm personally pretty excited. We're largely doing this because Tiff wants a tattoo and I'm kind of bored with my life and think a little needle (hold the drugs) might spice things up a bit.
It takes like fifteen minutes and there's a lot less blood than I thought there would be and the girls will laugh at how I clenched while on the seat, rising my feet in mild pain. At one point, the guy turns away and I sit up...and possibly blanch at the giant needle curbed through my skin.
I spend the next few months occasionally forgetting that the damn thing is in place, wincing randomly anywhere at work or, worse, at the gym where I learn to adore boy-shorts for their hoochie-mama-esque hip lines. Eventually, I'll learn to realize that it's actually coming out, that my body is rejecting it and I kind of have to evacuate my belly ring ASAP before I get a nasty-looking scar.
