I spent my Wednesday afternoon taking my two older daughters (age 21 and soon-to-be 18) to the tattoo parlor. Apparently I was giving the 18 year old a tattoo for her birthday. She selected a quote from a Beatles song to have written on her rib cage, and her older sister wanted a complimentary (but different) quote.
Something about Daddy facilitating his little girls' tattooing desires just seems so...wrong.
But being an obliging sort, I took both of them, along with two of their friends, to Grin and Barrett in Omaha. The younger one went first -- quaking with nervousness, chattering away non-stop, wincing as the needle did its work, and ultimately shedding a tear or two. The older daughter was second -- she was stoic, and pointed out -- more than once -- that this, "...wasn't her first rodeo." (she has a small anchor tattoo on her hip.)
Two hundred and fifty dollars later -- which reminds me that daughter number two still hasn't paid me back for HER tattoo -- both girls were sporting new tattoos.