I tattooed myself with blue ink from a Bic and a quilting needle when I was 13. One on my wrist, the other about two inches above. One a name, the other an arrow pirced heart with the appropriate initals. Both were the result of my juvenile naivety and lasted for a fortnight.
In the interim, I began noticing people with tattoos more than I usally would-much like the owner of a new car will easily spot the same model.
It was during this time I had noted a number of elderly folk with tattoos, men and women both, who's sagging skin and fading ink made me reconsider my mawkish and purile affection for a girl that I would likely never spend a lifetime with.
I cut them both out with a hunting knife and packed the wounds with salt (laser surgery was a bit before my time and financially inaccessible anyway).
Yes, I still bear the scars some 37 years later.
I've never considered getting another tattoo since.