. . . my birthday. Granted, it's in January, so don't send the gifts just yet. But I've been thinking about my own gift to myself (something I instituted around the time of adulthood when relatives no longer consider you cute enough to hand out cash or even cards). I must admit that my own gifts to myself are usually fairly satisfying. I cannot recall any of them at the moment, but I blame that on my advancing years.
I am thinking of getting a tattoo.
Yes! Finally! I have wanted one since about as long as I have wanted the nose ring. And that has worked out marvelously well. I am in the stage of still considering what I want. I am afraid that there may not be an artist capable of rendering an accurate account of my beloved cat (see pic below), so I may do something with words. Which is kinda funny, because I asked one of my classes the other day of the ones who had tattoos (four), whether they were words or pictures. All of them had images. I would want a word. With no accompanying numbers or embellishments. No cute fairy hanging on the Y. No half moon cradling the OETR. (Obviously I am considering the word POETRY. But do I do it in English or French? Hmmm.)
This could take up copious amounts of my time. A huge decision. So prepare yourself world (i.e. Mom). There may be a little extra something on the body next year.
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