He's only bloody gone and done it. My son Ross is off for a tattoo, today. Much to my dismay. I personally hate them - only on the skin of my children, though. He's not happy with just burning the fuck out of himself on sunbeds, he's got to add what just looks like bruises from a distance. I dread his return. He has one of the most perfect faces, a right pretty-boy he is, with the most blemish free skin. Hardly a scar or broken bone from childhood. Now that's all a self-inflicted war zone! God knows what he's coming back with.
What happened to the days where he and his mates were happily raising our council tax by drawing big dicks with jizz coming out in indelible ink (like some 34-year-olds-I-know!) on every wall and fence on the way home from places?
I'll pop a picture of it up later and give my opinion on it. Once I break my fucking heart looking through the photo albums where only I can see the golden halo above - and only he can see the horns and the devious smile.