Tattoos…and SpongeBob


Today I got my third tattoo. It was across my forearm of three simple words “Love you more” written in my mothers impeccable handwriting.  Originally it was supposed to also have “-Mom” below it. But, literally in the 20 minutes it took for the tattoo artist to set up, with cleaning and what not as he hummed to the creepy alternative music playing, I freakin’ changed my mind.

Changing my mind wasn’t what bothered me. The reason I changed it was.

In fact I’m very happy with having not added the tag. But sitting there, listening to his oddly on beat hum, I pictured SpongeBob. Yes, that’s right SpongeBob. Remembering the episode with the meathead who had Mom tattooed on his shoulder with a heart around it. Being eight I found it so hilarious that this character had the word mom tattooed on his body. Slowly, thoughts turned into images of others snickering and laughing at my tattoo. I panicked.

“Will I look as stupid as the meathead off SpongeBob?”

“Am I stupid to put a silly little dash with mom written next to it?”

It’s crazy how many thoughts go through your head when you’re sitting in a waiting area about to put something on your body that will forever be there. My anxiety got me, it slapped me in the face and said, “Worry! Worry about what everybody around you thinks.”

I personally hate how much I care. But, I cared.

So, when he was finally ready I quickly told him I’d changed my mind I didn’t want “-Mom”  included. And I was scared with this odd anxiety fluttering in my chest, that he was going to be angry and ask why. Then I would have to explain my stupid SpongeBob theory to him and he would think I was an idiot who was just wasting his time.

He didn’t though. He simply said okay and apologized for my wait.

Something a ‘normal’ adult would do and say.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t overthink things. Life’s too short to worry about if people will make fun of you the way I did to the meathead on SpongeBob when I was 8 years old.

I love my tattoo, and all the meaning that follows it. I couldn’t stop looking at it the rest of the evening. And looking back I feel silly for even thinking these thought in the first place. Every day I learn to worry a little less, or try to. I have to be me, and do what make me happy. And you have to be you, and not let some washed up theory pull you away.


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