I'm Really Not a Biker Chick

I love tattoos. I always have. I wanted to have a tattoo long before tattooing became a fad and every California teenager had have her navel surrounded with an image of the sun. There really should be warnings posted about tummy tattoos--something like "If you get this now, don't get pregnant. Ever. Just saying."

My Uncle David was "inked up." He was retired from the Navy and sported a blue splotchy anchor on one forearm and a blue splotchy busty woman on the other.

I LOVED those tattoos. I was six years old, and I loved them. I used to trace the anchor with my fingers. I think I was too embarrassed to touch the lady.

Of course when I told my mom I was going to have tattoos when I grew up, her response was "That's nice, honey." She probably thought that my desire to put permanent marks on my body would pass along with my desire to have fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror of my future car.

But it didn't. (Sorry, Mom!)

So when you walk into the barn and see a woman with a tattoo of a panther on her upper arm, that's me. Hi. I'm really not a biker chick. I just love tattoos.

Carla, my very first boarder and my very good friend, sent me a text yesterday. It was just a picture. Of a tattoo. A wolf and a dragonfly on a woman's shoulder blade. HER shoulder blade.

"Did you just get a tattoo???!!!?" I exclaimed with texting punctuation.
"Yep," was all she wrote.

My first thought was "We're going to have a barn full of chicks with tattoos." My second thought was, "I have such a cool barn."

Tattoos are addictive. Once you get the first one, there's something inside you that wants to get another.

I have four.

I think number five will be a horse. Not sure where that one's going just yet. I'll let you know when I decide. :-) Just don't tell my mom.