When I grow up...

The first thing I remember wanting to be--I was seven--when I grew up was...a tattoo artist. Yes, really. And, naturally, my family fully supported me in this. I was allowed to draw on my sisters and brother to practice, even on my mom from time to time. My absolute favorite thing to "tattoo" was cherries, two cherries, connected at the top by their stems, with a single leaf, thank you, not two. And those handy clicky pens with four different colors were perfect because there was black--click--red--click--green. I even found a nice 10"X13" piece of paneling (you know, the kind all trailer walls used to be covered with) and drew my "catalogue" on the back. From memory, amongst the things I proposed my clientèle were a swan, a parrot, a rose-like flower (surely you know the type--the ones that look more like chrysanthemums with squat, pointy petals, somewhat like this--> } ), a daisy, a peace sign, a horse (head or whole body), a Harley Davidson (I wasn't really happy with the lines at the time--thought them a tad clumsy--but it was my first attempt. Being positive that all reputable tattoo parlors must have a motorcycle on offer, I was forced to keep it), and, of course, the infamous cherries. However, I generously agreed to tattoo as few as one and as many as three, depending on the client's wishes.

( Today, many years have been ripped from the calendar of my life... )

ETA: I called the artist and set up a lesson for Saturday. Go me.