I got my first and only tattoo over 30 years ago, before it was an "in" thing to do. My girl friend at the time got a small tattoo of a rose on her upper back, behind the shoulder. I had agreed to do it also, if she did. I resisted for a few months, but we went on the road and in Fort Worth, Texas we saw a small Tattoo parlor on the side of the road. I was finally ready to get my rose.
Man, did that hurt! This was the old days of deep needle work. Those tattoos will never rub off or look worn. Anyway, the old guy (a great tattoo artist by the way) is putting the red color in and I am ready to faint. He asks me if I want a break. I say sure and walk outside for some air. I had already paid him (the princely sum of $10), and just got in my car and drove away, never to finish the job. So now I have a faded rose, or as some people guess, a butterfly??
Boy, were my mom and dad freaked the first time they saw me without my shirt. Jewish boys do not get tattoos is what my Dad said. He was super pissed!
Now I'm thinking about a pool table on my back, with a rack of Nine Balls and a Cue ball. Ha Ha Ha Ha. Just teasin'! No way. I'm too much of a wimp.