When I was a kid, it seemed like the only people with tattoos were guys who’d been in the military or who rode motorcycles. Getting tattooed is painful and it proved these guys were strong, tough, cool. In other words – badass.
Once in a great while, I’d see a woman with a tattoo but it was usually a dainty little red rose on her ankle or shoulder. Still, I never considered doing it myself. For one thing, I didn’t feel strongly enough about anything to have it branded into my skin. Then there was the pain factor. And a badass? Definitely not me.
But getting tattooed has become so commonplace that it hardly seems the act of courage or rebellion it once was. These days, it’s more about artistic expression and individualism. That being said, getting tattooed remains a painful endeavor and, you have to be gutsy to let that needle go at your skin.
Full disclosure here: I got inked.
Like far too many women, first I was cut. Next, pumped full of poison. Then came the tatts, and finally they nuked me. I guess that makes me a badass after all.
You see, my tatts are radiation markers. I am a breast cancer survivor with four small permanent black dots on my chest. But I’m also a hockey enthusiast, a devoted Boston Bruins fan, so I choose to think of my tatts as small hockey pucks. Four little pucks in honor of the greatest hockey player that ever was: Number Four – Bobby Orr!