I took Am to get her first tattoo today. That’s what she wanted for her birthday.
We’re sitting in what, I guess, is a typical tattoo shop (not like I’d know as I haven’t spent much time in them. …Yet.) Loud music competed with the buzz of the tattoo gun. There was a fair amount of people in there, both customers and staff, and of course everyone had lots of ink, and lots and LOTS of piercings, pink hair, green hair, mohawks… my kid included! And, I shit you not, two guys in for a Prince Albert piercing, one of whom walked out with his pants around his ankles and his penis freshly pierced and wrapped in a black rubber glove.
Good times. Rlly.
But so we’re sitting there, Am’s at the table getting “inked” and I’m sitting on the bench watching. I have my mom-jeans on, my hair, just one color and plain brown at that, pulled up in a mom-ponytail complete with 80′s scrunchie, and my quilted brown thigh-length winter coat with fur on the hood. Cuz it’s fucking cold out there and I don’t care if it’s ugly, it’s WARM.
Am had brought her friend along for courage, her friend with the green hair and the snake bite/septum/eyebrow piercings and the tattoos on her neck and fingers.. sitting next to me on the bench.
They all started talking about their piercings and how much they hurt- or didn’t hurt. And how much they bled and how cool/gross it was. They talked about the pain of the tattoo gun, of how it feels to be stabbed and scratched with needles over and over again, how hard it can be to sit there, sit still, and take it.
Am looks at me sitting there next to her friend, looks around at the rest of the kids in the room (not a one of them over 25, I’d bet) and laughs and says “Mom. You look so out of place here with us freaks.” and the girl doing Am’s tattoo looks up at me and laughs and says “Yeah, Mom. You totally look out of your element.”
I just laughed.
Oh, I could talk with them at length about pain. And needles. And blood. I could talk about piercings, and body modifications. I could discuss the mental gymnastics involved for how to sit still and take it. I could talk about the euphoric feeling that they get when it’s over, that giddy little headrush of endorphins.
But… I’m just mom. Mom’s not freaky.
…If they only knew…