I hate my tattoo.

A cheerleading company called NCA hosts an annual, national collegiate cheer competition in Daytona Beach. Yes, there is a company whose only business is cheerleading. But that’s not what this story is about.

None of the college students competing really know why they chose to have this prestigious event in Daytona Beach. Perhaps they don’t even know why.

Daytona Beach is the kind of place that’s cool if you're a...actually I can’t even think of who Daytona Beach is cool for. I think we were all just there because we had to be. And they had a Coldstone Creamery and a Bubba Gump’s and giant margaritas so we numbed ourselves with crappy American chain restaurant sustenance and to get through the long weekend.

When the competition was completed and we were blissfully free to roam from our athletic commitments, albeit momentarily, we partied our little cheerleader faces off. Eventually, 2 days of eating Germanchökolätekäke sundaes for three meals a day and chugging “mug-o-ritas” got us into the perfect headspace to make some very rash decisions.

As a group of about 8 from a team of 24, we decided we were all going to get a tattoo or piercing. We had to do it! For the memories! To always remember this moment! Or whatever!

It’s true that by this point we had been through a lot together. Our entire spring break from school was filled with cheer practices 2 or 3 times a day. We spent a lot of time together and we worked through a lot, just like any team. We laughed and we cried and we bled and all the usual stuff. For some reason we felt that getting tattoos/piercings as a group would really solidify this bond. I guess most young people that get tattoos collectively as a group with their friends feel this way.

Someone ordered an extra large SUV taxi and we cruised on over to the first tattoo place we saw. We did not look up the place before. We were just like, “Let’s find a tattoo place!” And then we did.

An incandescent full moon beamed ominously over the Atlantic. I swear the moon was full. It lit up all of our intoxicated eyes as well scream-sang Top 40 and probably gave the driver a heart attack. One of us probably even threw up in his vehicle. I don’t know.

As we drunkenly leapt out of the car we chattered excitedly about which symbol of our unified debauchery we were going to inflict upon ourselves. Rose on an ankle, or bird on a wrist, or dolphins, just in general, or nipple piercings. I had a big decision to make. At the time I already had all available areas pierced, so by default I had to get a tattoo.

I had to get a tattoo...BY DEFAULT.

This was my decision-making process.

As I pondered how my decision was going to play out, the first thing I thought was, “I have to get it somewhere that I don’t have to see it all the time. Because I’m going to get tired of looking at it.”

I know....if I was thinking this why did I get it in the first place?!

It’s likely I was just swept up in the camaraderie of the moment. But come ON. I was a 22 year old idiot and I decided to get it on my right butt cheek. Like, just right in the middle of my butt cheek. A silly, stupid, random spot. Because there, I wouldn’t have to look at it all the time.

Next up was deciding what to get. Looking back, I’m very glad that we didn’t all decide to get the same thing. That wasn’t part of the “rules” that we arbitrarily laid out to each other. We could all get what we wanted but the whole thing was that we HAD TO GET IT.

Drunkenly, as we were completely intoxicated, I tried to reflect on the things I held dear that would also translate to a permanent marking on my then-pristine skin. All I could come up with at the time was a dragonfly.

Now it’s clear to me, from other people’s comments on my tattoo and subsequent googling, that a dragonfly as a symbol often is a tribute to a loved one that has died. I respect that, but that was not the intention of my dragonfly. I don’t know that I’m even that clear on the intention of my dragonfly but it had something to do with seeing them in a bunch of different bright colors at cheerleading camp and just really liking their overall “vibe.”

But then I chose to get it in all black because I didn’t want any colors.

The tattoo man seemed amused as I made him draw the tiniest most unassuming dragonfly tattoo template of all time. He was like, “That’s it?”

Yes, yes tattoo man, my friend, that is IT.

Nervously I stood and watched my cheer comrades as they went under the needle(s). I was one of the last to go, and as I approached the table I lifted up my skirt to expose my bare right butt cheek. Because I was wearing a thong, with a skirt, oh yes I was. It’s interesting that I thought getting it on my butt cheek would somehow revoke “tramp stamp” status. “Tramp Stamp” is a rude and derivative word anyway. I banish it from my vocabulary.

GONE!

The buzzing of the needle definitely felt weird, but I wouldn’t say that it hurt. Also my tattoo is like “MICROSCOPIC” so it took 5 minutes or so. Looking back I think it probably should have been cheaper, but at the time $75 I didn’t really have seemed like a steal.

My bank account tumbled into overdraft but we got it all done and paid for and called another taxi to make our way back to the hotel and smoke on the beach.

In a perfect world the story would end there. But it’s not a perfect world and a tattoo story has no end because A TATTOO IS FOREVER, YOU GUYS. I got back to New Jersey and showed my boyfriend and he was a huge jerk so of course he hated it and doesn’t matter anyway. But I ALSO hated it, pretty much from the moment I got it. I think I actually hated it before I got it. I was ready for a life of hating it and I willingly took that on and the whole thing sounds insane, I know.

As the years have gone by, I always forget it’s there. Then a day arrives when someone who has never seen me without pants, sees me without pants, and they’re like “OMG! You have a tattoo!” And I’m like, “Ugh, just ignore it.” But they never ignore it and then they want me to explain it and tell a "story" about what it "means" and it’s a whole THING because I don’t even have a real reason and I feel like a fool.

One day a couple of years ago I reached out to a laser tattoo removal person that my co-worker recommended. I had to fill out a whole form and send them a bunch of pictures to get a quote. They were super nice, but they came back to me and said their plan of treatment would be 8 sessions of lasering over 18-22 months, at $125 a session. I don’t really know math but that is at least $1,000 to get rid of something that cost $75, and almost two years to remove something that took 5 minutes to put there.

It was disheartening, to say the least. One day when I have true disposable income I will get back to them and get started. My hopes are high that laser tattoo removal technology will also improve and become more mainstream and therefore cheaper, democratized, more available to the plebs.

Until then, I’ll continue ignoring it, and please don’t ask me "why" I got it.