Inked

Since I was 17 I have always wanted a tattoo, in fact I came very close to getting one at the time. Despite taking two pain killers and being so amped, the place happened to be closed and I chickened out after that. Thank the pope for that! Otherwise I’d be looking like an absoulute douche with a generic tribal tramp stamp.

Fast forward five years, gain a few kilos along with some wisdom and a ditch the pain killers. I finally decided that now was the right time. I strongly believe that if you want something today that seems impulsive you should wait a couple of months, if you still want it, go for it. That is exactly what I did.

I was shit scared, I won’t lie – asking the hardcore tattoo lady if it hurts was a stupid thing to do. She gave me a look that probably could do more damage than any tattoo needle. So, feeling like a real pussy I decided that I would own the experience and overcome my fear of needles. Fanta Orange in hand, I made my way to Wildfire in Canal Walk (yes, they rip you off, but I prefer to not look like a leper afterwards). Much like a doctors appointment, the worst part is waiting on the expert. Ok, so shirt off and stencil on I was waiting for the first sting, Adele playing through my iPod for some chilled vibes. Eyes open to not look like a total woes in front of the tattoo dudes! “Ready?” he said, “Yeah, def” I said with less hesitation than anticipated.

To answer the question, yes it does hurt. Does it hurt like drawing blood? No, does it hurt more than a cat scratch? Yes, unfortunately as I am so used to my cat scratching me. Over in twenty minutes with minimal bleeding but a slight light headed feeling. I rushed out and made a call… then realised, shit! I didn’t pay! Haha, I had to run back and apologise to the scary tattoo lady. She be scary. Also forgot my Fanta Orange, which I really needed. A great experience, with no pain killers or tribal.