There is a small, small portion of the human population sporting tattoos of my drawings on their bodies. Real. Permanent. Tattoos.
I'm a big fan of tattoos. I love looking at them. I've even seriously considered one for myself. I even found an artist and put down a deposit.
Then, chickened out.
So, when a stranger tells me they have decided to permanently ink themselves with an image I saw in my head, I feel responsible. I want to make sure they've thought things through. I want to be there to hold their hand. I want to apologize to their mother.
Of course, I'm also incredibly humbled and honored.
But mostly, responsible.
This post was inspired by my bag of fun. You know, the bag where you stash all your sequins, candy bits, feathers, temporary tattoos, etc. Doesn't everyone have one?