Meet Norm, my ankle friend. Norm goes everywhere with me, except my dreams.
I acquired Norm in a biker bar in Obs. I was later informed by a friend that NORMAL girls get tattoos in groups of no less than 10 and go to designer boutique type parlours in malls which will provide your chinese symbol/butterfly/fairy of choice for an exorbitant fee.
Jawellnofine, I have always been odd. It helps when you have no conception of what you are getting yourself into. I wandered into this bar alone and was greeted by the puzzled stares of many huge, leather clad men covered in skulls and other vaguely satanic symbols. Mkay. (I want my Mommy!) They were all drinking. Alcohol. Before midday (I had not been to the UK then so I had a somewhat naive conception of acceptable alcohol consumption).
I stammered my intentions to the barman. The tattooist dude came over and took me to his room at the back of the bar. He asked me what I wanted. I must say he looked somewhat bemused when I handed over my cellphone which had a screensaver of a cute cartoon turtle thereupon.
“You want that!!??”
I had a fleeting moment of self doubt then and I considered running away. But I nodded. Yes that is what I wanted. He resigned himself to this anomaly and set to work. Now the actual tattoo was not particularly sore, but the noise! Nobody warns you about the noise! In those few moments between him switching on the needle and putting it to my skin I thought that I was about to encounter a fate worse than death.
But it was all fine, and now I have Norm, he has been with me for 6 years and will be (hopefully) for many more. I am considering getting a lettuce tattoo to give him something to strive for.