We’re casually watching the documentary Babies, and during a birthing scene Nefarious makes the same mistake as many expectant fathers looking at an ultrasound thanks to the umbilical cord — she bursts out in amazement, “oh my god, did you see how giant that little boy’s wiener is!?!?!”
Earlier today we did some shading on my leg half-sleeve, filling in the Nazi zombie borrowed from Dead Snow. Nefarious was very skittish about using the tattoo machine, mostly because she was worried about hurting me (empathic worries have preemptively stopped the careers of a few talented artists who tried dipping their toes into tattooing, making her far from the first to back off), so she found other ways to be entertained as Shane worked on me. I wasn’t going to post the fresh photo because fresh photos never give the piece proper credit — it was weird, because I didn’t bleed at all during the five or so solid hours of tattooing, which was odd, although I did turn quite red — but what the hey. I can’t wait to do some more in two weeks, but man oh man, do my painkillers ever make tattooing worse. I suspect this is because they’ve damaged the way my body releases endorphins, and simply because of being hyper-sensitive to breakthrough pain.
But still, it’s worth it.