For years now I've wanted a second tattoo. When I was 18 I got my first on my lower back and, although I don't regret it, I wish I had spent a bit more time thinking about what I really wanted a tattoo of instead of saying: Oh, a flower is pretty. Give me that. Granted I was 18 and didn't spend much time thinking. At all.
Last night I got a butterfly tattooed on my left foot.
Before the ink. (I also feel the need to clarify that my last pedicure wasn't that long ago; the polish was recently removed.)
Obviously you can't tell from this picture, but the only words I could articulate throughout the 40-minute process were OH HOLY FUCK THIS HURTS. And it did. It hurt.
That right there is my death grip.
There it is, finished and in a lovely shade of ouch.
Mike insisted on whipping out the tripod to get a good picture sans flash when we got home. I love my husband for holding my hand during the whole ordeal and for being insistent on documenting it. After taking this last one he said to me, "Let's take more tomorrow, after you've painted your nails." And I love him for that, too.
This butterfly has meaning to me, and I love how it turned out. I know what you're thinking, Internet: What about job interviews and having a tattoo on your foot when you're 80 and it'll fade and it can't possibly look good with every pair of shoes you have (heels? espadrilles? wedges? Have you really thought about the wedges?). I appreciate the concern, I do. I've thought about each of these things (my wedges are very open-minded, I promise). They are all excellent and valid points. But they didn't stop me from doing it. If they would've stopped you, I can only recommend perhaps you shouldn't get a tattoo on your foot.
Also, let's be honest, I drink entirely too much to make it to 80.