The How of Getting a Tattoo

I've wanted to get "Courage, dear heart" tattooed on my person for years.  Probably around five.  This past year it became a more insistent thought, and in November I decided that if I still passionately wanted the tattoo by my 25th birthday, that would be the day.  Today is my 25th birthday!  And I got the tattoo.

Emily gave me a journal with "courage, dear heart" written on the cover, so I took that in.  My tattoo artist tweaked it a little, but mostly kept the design the same.  I knew what I wanted, but my default reaction is one of laid-back compliance. 

Tattoo artist:  This would look better stacked.
Me:  Yeah, okay.
Tattoo artist:  Actually, maybe we could do it in two lines?
Me:  Yeah, okay.

Now, let me be clear.  I've thought about this for five years.  I knew what I wanted.  Yet still I did whatever he told me.  Thankfully, I had Liz along.

Tattoo artist:  Sign this form.
Me:  Okay, cool.
Liz:  How long will it take for her to heal?
Me:  Oh yeah, that's a good question.
Tattoo artist:  Seven to ten days.
Liz:  And what should she do as treatment?  Should she avoid anything?  What if something goes wrong, can she come back?  How long have you been in this business?

My tattoo artist was awesome, though.  I completely understand how repeat tattoo receivers become friends with their artists.  My guy was also pretty chill and desperately sarcastic.

Tattoo artist:  Alright, we're getting started.  Your job is to hold still.
Me:  What if I jump because it hurts?
Tattoo artist:  ...Try not to do that.

He bandaged me up with saran wrap and went to take a call while Liz and I gazed adoringly at my body art.  Liz realized he had forgotten to add the comma, so we waited for him to come back out.

Me:  The comma!
Tattoo artist:  Aw, s***!  No problem, just sit down.  I knew I would forget that.
Me:  Me too.  That's why Liz is here.

And then it was done!  And I was tattooed!  We went outside and I danced in place, got in the car, and screamed, "I HAVE A TATTOO."