So off we went to Wal-Mart, which was a zoo since it was Saturday. We asked a saleswoman where we could find Cetaphil soap and lotion, and she said who got the tattoo? She said that the only people who get it are people who just got tattoos, as I pointed at Una. I guess the folks at Art With a Pulse provide great business for Cetaphil. It was now 2pm, and we were stoked and looking to celebrate. There was supposed to be a Mardi Gras parade in Manitou Springs, just down the road. So we hustled down there to find a genuine carnivale atmosphere. It was a beautiful day, and crowds of people were strolling around the closed-down streets and park. There was music, vendors, costumes, and revelry. There probably wasn't a better way to celebrate.

We ended up meeting some friends who lived down there, and washed and cleaned Una's new tattoo exactly two hours later at their place. We bar-hopped until dinner time, at which point we went to a bar called The Keg for dinner. (Not to be confused with The Keg steak and seafood chain in Toronto, this hole in the wall does serve steak and seafood, but it attracts a mix of local Manitou Springs folk and biker dudes.) I asked Una to take off her fleece sweater so I could see her new tattoo. Within seconds, at least two tables full of men turned and gawked at the sight of Una's new tattoo. I jokingly told her that when she went out in the summer with a loose shirt on, she should get used to the sound of whiplash. To avoid further incident, she put her sweater back on.

When it was my turn to go a week later, I was convinced it would hurt like a mother (because I wouldn't have the benefit of having a scraped knee and elbow to distract me). I was partially correct. For some reason, the left side of my body was more sensitive than the right side. Una (who is a lefty) said the opposite was true for her. It took roughly 2 hours for Donna to get my tattoo done, and I sure was glad when it was over. The pain is exactly like what you would think it would feel like, if you've ever seen a tattoo needle gun: a needle carving it's way over your skin in a sewing machine fashion. No, it's not unbearable, but yes, it falls under the category of unpleasant experiences. The hardest part for me was to remain absolutely still and not to flinch; concentrating on my breathing helped, as well as a little pre-emptive tylenol taken just before the whole episode.

Afterwards, we went for a celebratory beer at a local microbrewery, and after we did the ceremonial first cleaning of my new tattoo, we went to a friend's house (let's call him Mike) for a late Mardi Gras party. By now the tat was getting a little stingy, and the tag on my t-shirt was irritating it as well. Several beers and hurricanes helped matters considerably, as well as all the attention it was getting. A little recognition goes a long way, I suppose. In honor of this occasion and my birthday two days later (how old do you think I am?), Una ordered a surprise birthday cake decorated with a HUGE lox-colored bandaid on it.

It's now a day later, and I'm deeply regretting it (just kidding). The tattoos are now a part of us, and hopefully, their personal meaning will not just signify a simple youthful passion, but grow with us as we change and grow. And it won't be our last tattoo.