I have a fun fact for you guys, I have a tattoo.

This tattoo is someone’s name.

This tattoo is my boyfriend’s name.

Now, before I get labled with the twelve year olds who proclaim their everlasting love for their boyfriend of two days I think I deserve a chance to explain how this story came to be.

Last summer me and a large group of friends, including my boyfriend, went on holiday to Tenerife. As you can imagine this was a largely alcohol fuelled trip before we all went off to university in the autumn. Now, the funny thing is that this story involves quite a bit of irony involving some antics with henna. One night me and one of my friends were walking around when we saw a lady doing henna, my friend suggested that I got my boyfriend’s name hennaed somewhere as it would be rather sweet:

“No way! That would be really weird and clingy and henna lasts like three weeks!”

So, as a joke I ended up getting her name hennaed onto my crotch, yes, literally my crotch!

Then, a few nights later me and my boyfriend where walking around by ourselves after a night on the strip, we were rather drunk and somehow the idea of getting each others names tattooed came up; in our drunken state we decided to walk around looking for a place to get them done, however, it was late and everything was closed so we ended up going back to the hotel and having sex on his balcony.

The next morning we woke up, still a bit tipsy but luckily not hungover.

“Haha, last night you were all up for getting my name tattooed on you, bloody clingy bastard!” I said as an innocent joke.

“I wasn’t joking, I bet you won’t do it though!” Came his cheeky reply.

On this note a game of ‘chicken’ began. Now, for those who are not familiar with this term, a game of chicken is basically one to see who will go the furthest and can be applied to a variety of things, for example, lying down in the middle of a road. We began joking about it and both arguing that we would in fact do it if the other did so too.

Now, in some kind of social error there was a tattoo parlour located right under our hotel, the social error being that this was clearly a hotel for teens on holiday. As the jokes progressed we began moving towards this parlour, many of our friends in tow, none thinking it would actually be done. My boyfriend then popped into the parlour, gave the man our names and haggled him for a lower price, eventually he came out to the nervous wreck of me waiting outside.

“They can do ours now if you like, who do you want to go first”

I was shocked. So very very shocked. I mean, first of all my boyfriend isn’t exactly the type to show emotions or be very up front about his feelings, hell, we hadn’t even said ‘I love you yet’, except for a bodged attempt a few days ago when he said

“I’m not sure if I like you or love you.”

This being said in a lift where I proceeded to pretend to hit my head to distract him as I had no idea how to react to something like that!

So anyway, I said he could go first, still not believing this was actually going to happen. Nevertheless, it did. He got my name in big black along the outside of his left foot, and, soon enough it was my turn to get his on the inside of my right. The pain was incredible; one of the worst parts being when I thought I had gone through enough pain and it must be done and looking down and seeing the first letter not even being completed yet.

I think I acted like one of those crazy ladies giving birth on TV, all screaming and demanding that my boyfriend look at me and let me vice grip his hand! The video my friend did of it truly looked like a birth, my legs all hitched up, me sweating and screaming and my boyfriend looking confused (he thought his didn’t hurt very much at all).

After it was all done we thought it was still hilarious, watching the video over and over again and stocking up on creams from the local pharmacy. In all honesty, it is still rather funny, probably since were still together, but still, very funny and quite an awesome memory. I do not regret it, even though getting a boyfriend’s name on your foot after six months is a bit of a ‘what the fuck’ moment.

Now, remember the henna, the henna I refused to get his name written on me with because it lasts three weeks? Yeah, that’s the irony I mentioned earlier.

Grace x