roaring up that delight

What strikes me about this is:

1) I vividly remember thinking this fellow child was cool and getting along really well, and now they are also trans (and polyamorous)

2) I have zero memory of ever saying I was a boy when I was a toddler or indeed of hearing this attested by my parents, and in fact have thought of myself for many years as part of the group of trans people who were neutral on gender in early childhood and only got consciously freaked out about it with the advent of puberty, so this is actually really messing with the narrative - but I’m sure it must be true because this person’s parents did know my parents when I was that age

One knee down!

I got it yesterday with FRIEND (Den!!), who went first and got beautiful burgundy kiki/bouba on their fronts of ankles.

We were there for fully 12 hours - absolutely wild that the tattooer worked that late and didn’t have us leave, but also the whole experience was quite lackadaisical and involved a lot of chatting as well as refining and placing. The chatting felt very important while getting black packed around the knee, which does suck. I used the spiky mild-pain-inducing fidget toy I bought to try to better handle hours-long meetings, and that helped too.

Over the course of the day we ate almost a whole large paneer tikka masala pizza (I did give a slice to the counter person, who was wildly grateful). The counter person was also dressing up for a concert that evening and consulted us on outfit choices: plush bunny ears? Plush clown hat? Both?