Because, you know, everything in my life is so well planned and equally well executed {HA, I jest}, I obviously thought that getting a full foot tattoo and moving into our first home {!!!!!!!!} in the same week would be no big deal. Because I am Super-mum, I feel no pain and I can organize the shit out of anything. Right?
So anyway, tattoo on Saturday afternoon – all good. Two hours later and I couldn’t walk. At all.
Today is better, my hobbling is less cripple-like, though I am still down one ankle due to massive swelling. This is all fab news considering moving day is Friday, I work on the second floor of our building and I can garner NO sympathy because my discomfort is entirely self-induced {aside from Dave of course, he is sympathetic on a daily basis even in the best of times because after all I HAVE no choice but to live in MY head aka CrazyTown}.
But I LOVE it. I have thought about this tattoo for a year at least. It is for my Dad and I and it means so many things to me.
At the very least I am totally predictable and useless, but may have a couple of days up my sleeve to recover enough to drive the stick in my work van come moving day. Bring on the mortgage!
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