I recently wanted to add a little more color and flair to a tattoo I had gotten done a few years ago. Being a little tipsy the first time, I was very aware of how nervous I was this time since I was pretty sober. I sat down in the chair and anxiously chatted with the artist. He started to prep his tool and turned toward me with the needle thing buzzing. It was then that I realized that he had only three fingers. The fingers of the latex gloves that weren't filled by anything were just sort of flapping around. Oh. Come. On. I held my breath as he began the two hour process. In the end – the tattoo was perfect – but the entire time I couldn’t help lying there thinking about how this shit only happens to someone dramatic like me.
