I love tattoos.  I got my first tattoo when I was 20.  My sister took me to a tattoo place in the Highlands neighborhood of Louisville and my tat was done by this biker dude with a long beard who couldn’t stop laughing at me because I hyperventilated and nearly passed out from the pain.  When it was done, approximately 4 minutes later, I had a tiny (1 inch tall) tattoo of a yellow daisy on my outside left ankle.  My 20-year-old self loved that tat.  I felt like a badass.  My sister, of course, spent the next decade commenting about my “mole” that looked like a flower because it was so small.

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