(Or, maybe we really thought about getting tattoos. Or, maybe some of us then really went ahead and got tattoos. Or, maybe it was just that some of us really thought about getting tattoos but then chickened out. Or, maybe some of us thought about getting tattoos and at least one of us went ahead and really truly did indeed get a tattoo. I've been instructed to be vague here on the blog. That by itself should say something, perhaps. Or perhaps not. Don't you just love when bloggers are precious and elliptical?)
In any case, I trace the whole thing back to Paris, where Madeline and Nina's enthusiasm for matching scarves seemed innocuous enough:
Plus, the scarves were such a good deal--at least compared to how expensive everything else seemed--that I bought a couple also as gifts for my sister.
But in Krakow, after we went on a trip looking for gifts at the medicinal tea store (prospective recipient, you know who you are), we noticed the tattoo parlor across the way. It turned out that the parlor was through a couple of heavy doors and up a flight of forboding stairs, but this was by itself enough to make us turn back:
Whatever happened from there, you would think that a tattoo parlor called "Lizard" in a foreign country where instructions provided to the tattooess would need to be provided through an intermediary might scare a person away. In any case, you can imagine that afterward at least one of us would need a nap, and all of us would need drinks.