I don’t like needles, I don’t like the dentist. I do like pretty things, and nice pictures and art work and herein lies the quandary of getting a tattoo for me. Oh the dentist thing is largely about the sound of the drill…… ugh, talk about horrid.
During my birthday trip to NZ my friend managed to get a stunning tattoo on her wrist and I once again felt excited about the idea of getting a tattoo. I mean I paint, I like to be creative and yet the last canvas I have looked to decorate is my body. Its almost weird, how would I ever get into the eclectic hall of fame without a few random tattoos, especially if I want to keep both ears. I had hoped with some luck that the tattooist would be free to lay some beautiful creation on me but alas he was not.
Leaving NZ I felt some relief at having dodged the tattoo bullet as I have always been clear that I wanted a NZ Tattoo with meaning of home and drawn by someone who actually understands the Maori symbolism, Melbourne’s then safe, right? Wrong. It took approx 30 mins of hardcore Googling to stumble across Shane from Chapel Tattoo, a Kiwi boy specialising in tribal tattoos particularly Maori it was now all falling into place. Before I knew it I was sitting on the shiny red vinyl seats surrounding by framed artwork of Chapel Tattoo. Just hearing the buzz sound made my skin crawl and I got the pre-requisite to doing something scary hot flush. I can only imagine what I looked like sitting there with my guess handbag, velour tracksuit and bright red face. At this point I was only having a consultation but my loving partner probed the question of “what if they can do it now”, the reality was I would have to go with it, I don’t think I could handle the anticipation a second time. Dear god I could have to get it now not later!
A reprieve and a 3 week wait later appointment I left feeling a sense of achievement. The build up was horrible, I liken it to childbirth, you look around and see that many people have done it and survived but you really have no idea how painful its going to be until its too late. I comforted myself by thinking of all the people with tattoos and how if they could handle it surely I could. I started pinching myself hard to see if that hurt. I started having nightmares about 2 days out, nightmares of being there and unprepared. I know it all sounds ridiculous but I really hate needles that much, and this to me is a big fat scraping inking needle. Bad needle.
Fi talked to me about it a lot, did I really want to do this, was I really sure. I am really 30 so its not like I am a teenager who is getting this while I am off my face and trying to impress someone. I have genuinely been thinking about this for a really long time. Now or never really.
So, I’m in the room, I can see the needle coming for me, I brace, I breath, I sigh, it’s not so bad. I can handle this, it’s a lot better than I thought. Halfway through and it seemed fine, I started almost getting excited that I was able to sit through it all fine. Then it hurt, it felt like burning more than needles as if it was a hot poker iron instead. It did hurt, I am not afraid to be a wuss, I didn’t like the second half of the experience which had me thinking he was going over the same line again and again. In the end though I am left with a piece of art to resemble my family and my home, it was drawn just for me and put exactly where I wanted. I love it.
