New
Apr 18, 2012 15:15:35 GMT -5
Post by meverri on Apr 18, 2012 15:15:35 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]Tasmin Sarinato[/glow]
I walk slowly toward the tattoo parlor, ready to spend a couple hundred dollars on a new tattoo. My fist tattoo, a red flower on her right cheek, is a bit old, so she wanted something new. I decided on silver branches down my arms, with smaller branches coming off, and a golden leaf on each hand. It's new, shiny, perfect. I need it, something new, to feel like I'm important and pretty. I'm also considering jewels implanted in my forehead, though I'm not sure yet. I think that the tattoos would be nice with a new shirt I just bought, a sleeveless, pink, flow-ey, almost see-through shirt with jewels along the top. It's beautiful, but I need something to go with it.
I'm not wearing it now, I'm wearing a blue and green dress, sleeveless and short. It really shows off my newly-tanned legs (I went to the tanning salon yesterday), and it compliments my blue layered bob haircut, which will have to change soon, but not today. I have a pretty crystal necklace, but no bracelets, because of the arm tattoos. I'm also wearing seven inch stiletto heals, not my tallest, but good for walking to the tattoo parlor, and they make my legs look long and sexy. My blue lipstick and eyeshadow and green mascara complete the look.
Walking in, I feel a slight twinge in my stomach. Tattoos hurt, though they're so in right now that I feel like I absolutely need them. Reaching into my peacock feather purse, I grab some bills and give them to an assistant. She shows me to the chair, and I brace myself for some pain and suffering.
When I walk out, examining my arms, I am sooooo glad that I got those tattoos. They look absolutely amazing, and I think that they might just be the best decision I've ever made, so I pray that a friend comes up to me and complements me on them. I decide that while I'm waiting, I'll grab a couple new outfits, maybe get my hair done, or a manicure. Something silver, to match the tattoos. I smile confidently, and walk toward the salon, wishing that someone else could tell me if I really look amazing.
I walk slowly toward the tattoo parlor, ready to spend a couple hundred dollars on a new tattoo. My fist tattoo, a red flower on her right cheek, is a bit old, so she wanted something new. I decided on silver branches down my arms, with smaller branches coming off, and a golden leaf on each hand. It's new, shiny, perfect. I need it, something new, to feel like I'm important and pretty. I'm also considering jewels implanted in my forehead, though I'm not sure yet. I think that the tattoos would be nice with a new shirt I just bought, a sleeveless, pink, flow-ey, almost see-through shirt with jewels along the top. It's beautiful, but I need something to go with it.
I'm not wearing it now, I'm wearing a blue and green dress, sleeveless and short. It really shows off my newly-tanned legs (I went to the tanning salon yesterday), and it compliments my blue layered bob haircut, which will have to change soon, but not today. I have a pretty crystal necklace, but no bracelets, because of the arm tattoos. I'm also wearing seven inch stiletto heals, not my tallest, but good for walking to the tattoo parlor, and they make my legs look long and sexy. My blue lipstick and eyeshadow and green mascara complete the look.
Walking in, I feel a slight twinge in my stomach. Tattoos hurt, though they're so in right now that I feel like I absolutely need them. Reaching into my peacock feather purse, I grab some bills and give them to an assistant. She shows me to the chair, and I brace myself for some pain and suffering.
When I walk out, examining my arms, I am sooooo glad that I got those tattoos. They look absolutely amazing, and I think that they might just be the best decision I've ever made, so I pray that a friend comes up to me and complements me on them. I decide that while I'm waiting, I'll grab a couple new outfits, maybe get my hair done, or a manicure. Something silver, to match the tattoos. I smile confidently, and walk toward the salon, wishing that someone else could tell me if I really look amazing.
