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Stupid tattoos

In the course of one semester, I’ve added four new illustrations to my once boring epidermis. 

My tattoos are not sketched flowers on my ankles or the names of ex-boyfriends, a portrait of my mother or Bible passages. 

My tattoos are stupid, admittedly. 

I had the first tattoo done in my friend’s friend’s apartment, by an amature artist. I chose the “edgy” location of… my butt. (Secretly, this is the wimpiest tattoo spot you can choose because no one will see it unless you want them to.) 

My friend and I wanted a tattoo to commemorate our long road trips from Bradley back home to Wisconsin, so we designed our own tattoo… a cow, dressed as Taylor Swift, playing guitar. 

The next tattoo came and went, a tattoo of Maggie from the children’s show “Maggie and the Ferocious Beast;” the design was copied from a pancake made for me by Dancakes when he visited Bradley’s campus. At the same time, my friend tattooed the Ferocious Beast on his opposite shoulder. 

Fast forward to spring break. My friends and I visited Nashville. For reference, I have a hatred for horses born from virtually nothing, but made very known to everyone who meets me. After a torturous hour of horseback riding in Tennessee, my friends posed the question: “What would it take for you to get a tattoo of a horse?” I promptly replied, “If you pay for it.” 

Fifteen minutes later, on their dime, I was in a tattoo shop getting a tattoo of a heart… a heart that was half a normal heart and the other half, a horse head. 

“I don’t like horses. I hate them,” I say to everyone who sees it. 

And most recently, I added a long rat tail to my back in commemoration of my three pet rats, who sadly passed. At the same time, my co-owner added a rat picture to her thigh. 

My tattoos are stupid, admittedly. But I love them. 

People are scared to get tattoos – scared of the permanence, scared they won’t like the choice later on or even just scared of the pain. 

In my opinion, life is about making memories; tattoos help you treasure them. No matter how the tattoo turns out and no matter how unattractive it is to me later in my life, that ink contains a story. 

To me, a tattoo is a tale to tell for the rest of your life. The story might just be how nervous you were for your first tattoo or how the atmosphere of the tattoo shop made you feel. Maybe it’s about who you got the tattoo with and what role they played in your life, even if you have long since lost contact. The story may be about the significance of the tattoo to you at the time, despite your detachment from it now. 

As you grow up, you will change. You genuinely may not like the memory captured in your ink, but that memory is still a part of your story. A tattoo forces you to remember aspects of your life that built you into the person you ultimately become. 

So, my advice is to take the leap and just get that tattoo you’ve been considering. It doesn’t really hurt, either. 

This story is part of the Scout 2018 summer special issue. Read the full summer issue

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The Scout is published by members of the student body of Bradley University. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect those of the University.