When I was 18 years old, I wanted to get my then-boyfriend’s initials tattooed across my hand. I needed the world to know that we were madly in love (which, of course, we weren’t) and this was going to be the man (which, of course, he wasn’t) that I’d spend the rest of my life with (which, thank God, I didn’t).
Instead, I chose to get a tasteful fire-breathing dragon inked on my lower back. Keep reading »
