Daisychains

For years I hated tattoos. Genuinely I did. I couldn't understand why someone would want to scar their skin for life. I didn't like the idea of getting one. I didn't like them on other people, and I certainly didn't find them attractive on the opposite sex.
Over the last year or so that has changed. And I'm not even sure when it happened. Or why. Last summer I thought I knew what I wanted. And where. A few months later I changed my mind. I'm an incredibly indecisive person so thought that if I wanted a tattoo it would be a bad idea to get one as I'd change my mind too quickly and regret it.
In January I fell in love with a swallow design. Three swallows silhouetted. Teeny tiny ones on my wrist. And that was it for me. I had it all planned out. I was going to get them for my 24th birthday. Around that time I became more accepting of them on others for various reasons. And now I've discovered that I actively like them. Strange, but true.
As for me? I now have my own. But it's not the birds. I will have them when I planned to. But I saw a design on a tattooist's website and couldn't get it out of my head. I wanted it on my skin.
I freaked out a few times after booking it 2 weeks ago about the permanency of it all. I nearly chickened out yesterday morning whilst standing outside waiting for them to open up. But it was fine. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I expected. I was more fascinated than anything. By the whole process - from the drawing of the stencil to being instructed to use nappy rash cream on it - strange but it's helping it heal.

And here it is. Most recent photo of it. The daisies are less red, the lines are a little raised, but as far as I'm concerned it's perfect. It survived Soho, Camden and Cricklewood and still looks beautiful. It's healing well, and earlier I found myself musing on the fact that I'll still have it when I'm 80. And you know what? I'm happy with that.