Unexpected...

I sometimes think that I was born into a family of beautiful people, but am not one.  So ... was my father the mailman??  The only time I have ever gotten attention for my body, for how I looked, was when I was actively battling anorexia.  Thin equals beautiful.  A terrible message to receive.

The other compliments that I have received have been on my teeth (back before there were 1,001 teeth whiteners out there) and on my hair.  Parts of me.  Not really how I look.

Not having a real dating history past college (and in college was just a little bit), I've never had a relationship with someone who has found me comely.  I've never been desired or desirable.  And I often think about what that would be like.  I mean, I see girls and women who know they are desirable and that knowledge permeates their actions and interactions.  I wonder what it would be like to be that for just one day.

And the truth is I have longed to be desirable.
At least once.
Once not part of an assault. 

So, it is sort of disconcerting for me to have another part of me garner compliments.  In the past week,  I've had several people gush or admire or actually desire my new tattoo!  I love it for so very many reasons.  It's botanical.  It fits me.  It fits Becky.  Becky has the same tattoo.  Becky offered to have the same tattoo.  It is not what anyone would expect of me.  It is beautiful.

Learning that other folk find it beautiful, too, has been surprising to me.
And rather lovely.

My new therapist really likes it, asking to see it again this week whilst saying that she had been thinking about it since last time.  My new GP likes it and admired how it looks like something that you might get as a henna tattoo.  My old pharmacist from Target likes it and had me show it to the new pharmacist at Walmart, who asked me for the name of who did it and where I had it done.  The cashier at Menard's admired it and also asked if I got it locally and, if so, who did it.  A man and a woman in line at the post office pretty much gushed over it, the woman pointing out my favorite feature of it: that it wraps around to the side of my hand and peeks out from my sleeve when wearing long sleeves.  And a little old lady who lives along the path of my Amos Walk said that it would go well in her garden and mused about being too old for a tattoo.

My mother will not be ... happy ... when she learns of the gift I received from my dear friend—my mind shouts gleefully "matching tattoos" every time I think of the botanical loveliness gracing my wrist—because tattoos are not ... desirable.  I did tell my sister because I have been trying to hard to work on our relationship.  I was thankful for her response.  At first, she was a bit quiet about it, but when I showed her the photo of our tattoos, she thought it was pretty.  I welcomed the support about my choice.

My neighbor thinks tattoos are disgusting.  A sentiment echoed by my realtor.  I have actually thought about keeping it covered when she drops by because I do not wish to experience condemnation about the choice I made, a choice that has brought me joy and a bit of giddiness.

I expected the judgement, but I didn't expect the admiration.
I have savored the latter.