I have made a lot of mistakes in this life, but I have never gotten a tattoo in a kitchen.
Please, don’t do that.
It’s a mistake, and there’s nothing more depressing than wearing shitty art on your body for years. I wore the Metallica Load Star, (Yeah, I know it’s their worst album), for 15 years on my chest. So, you can trust me about shitty art. (Aside: Don’t tell Lars that I’m talking about Metallica on stage. I don’t want to get sued…).
If you’re ever on a diet, and you can’t kill your appetite, do yourself a favor and google “home tattoo infections.” It’s raunchy.
And, I practice what I preach.
I made a deal with my kids that if they keep their skin blank – no kitchen bullshit – then, when they turn 18, I’ll buy them a nice piece of art, from a great artist. They pick the subject and style, and I’ll help find them someone good. Sounds great, right?
My daughter is 17 and a half. So…
I’m going to have to ante up.
Have ever made a stupid deal with your child?
I made it all the way to 18, and now I’m going to fuck it up. Because, she really does want this effing tattoo, and I’ve got no argument that will hold water. I’m covered in ink. But, she’s my kid, and she doesn’t have degrees and art education and experience to reference. There’s a probability that this may not be a good decision for her. I’m her mother. Tattooed or not, I worry about her decisions.
I don’t usually root against my kids… usually….
I’m a good mom, everyone survives bath-time, I’ve never placed the cadaver of my child in my trunk. You classic ‘good mom’ moves.
But—I’m kinda’ hoping she won’t be able to sit for it? And, I’ll get off on a technicality…
Does that make me the worst woman ever?
Definitely not a ‘good mommy’ moment.
But, kids are like that. They take your ‘bottom low’ behavior moment, nad somehow force you to double down.
I’ve never eaten so many questionably moist leftovers in my life. It doesn’t matter if they’ve touched it or not, the minute it hits the kid plate, the food gets wet…
I’ve wiped another person’s shit-covered ass with my bare hand before. (Out of necessity, obviously. This isn’t Germany).
I’ve even seen my friend turn around in the passenger seat and catch fresh vomit from her daughter in her hand—as we were going 75mph down I-5. She’s full a Ninja Level 10 Parent.
I never aspire to rank that highly.
But, I bet I have to buy that kid a tattoo...
I'm Jane Malone.