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

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