Written on the Body: Tattoos Tell the Stories of My Life
“With your sock and shoe on it, it’s never going to heal properly,” she warned me.
I promptly came down with bronchitis and spent the next week and a half bedridden, my bare foot sticking out of the bedcovers, healing beautifully. My right forearm? The artist did it in one hour, without stopping, and then I met up with my partner and my kids and we went to the playground.
This is who I am. A wife, a mother, a writer and a tattooed bitch who will someday rule the world.
Originally published at Purple Clover