by Heather Hogan

Created on: March 11, 2009

I had never thought about getting a tattoo. I looked at tattoos with prejudice and a snotty attitude that I couldn't blow away. Don't ask me why, I don't know why. At some point my subconscious decided only ones less fortunate than I had tattoos. But wait a minute, whom could be less fortunate than I? I was the daughter of an alchoholic, a dead mother, and ended up penniless at twenty two. I was a bit insecure I would say, and in turn neeeded to make myself feel better by judging the tattoo freaks all around me, as I called them back then.

At thirty five, and three children later I joined the ranks of people choosing pain and suffering while being permantly inked. I was in Berkeley with my cousin. We were out shopping while my husband was with my children. I saw a tattoo shop and decided I was getting a tattoo.

At the time, my brain was consumed with how to leave my husband without hurting my children. Not a possibility, but I was pondering and dreaming of schemes on how to accomplish the impossible for many years. There I stood, in a tattoo parlor designing my first artistic canvas, with a very nice stranger, that would become a part of my back forever.

I never once considered calling my then husband. Oh no, I was very excited for the shock on his face when he saw the proof of my independence. I was going to get him.

We decided on three whale tails emerging from the ocean, with a sunset in the back ground and an intial of each of my three children's first names on top of each whale tail. My daughter's initial would be in the middle, with that whale tail a bit higher than the others. She is the oldest, my second oldest won the tail to the left and the tail to the right was awarded to my youngest.

They asked if I needed a drink before they started. I said, "No, I have given birth to three children, I can certainly handle getting a tattoo." I started screaming within five minutes and demanded shots of tequila to be followed by Corona Light. I drank, and got through it.

I arrived home. I was feeling rejuvenated and confident. I walked up to my husband, who is now my ex, and said, "Hey, guess what? I decided to get a tattoo. Sorry if you don't like it or are a little shocked." I was so cocky. I turned around and lifted up my shirt to show him my art work that he couldn't do a thing about.

He said, "Wow! You got my initials forever engraved your back!" I almost threw up. He was right, his initials are JMC. My children are named, Jax, MacKenzie, and Cade. Remember, I put my daughter, MacKenzie, the oldest in the middle. I freaked out and said, "Oh my god! I didn't realize it!"

It was proven to me once again, vindictiveness always backfires, and the one being vindictive always loses. I will forever have my ex-husbands initials embedded in my back!

Learn more about this author, Heather Hogan.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.