Get a tattoo or stand in a beehive. You choose!

I started by telling everyone I was going to get a tattoo for my fortieth birthday. Deep down I wanted one but the idea of someone sticking needles in my skin over and over scared the living crap out of me.
I had seen many nice designs and wanted something that represented my son and my husband. I finally decided with friends help that it was going to be a bee, like the honey nut cheerios bee. The B would represent the initial of their first name.
I remember when my husband and I were dating we finally made the huge step of moving in together, the similarity of their names would confuse us all. After weeks of chaos and the men ignoring me when I would call them, we finally decided to call my son Little B and my husband Big B. When I was mad and ready to yell out my son's name, I would always blurt out the name of my husband, which would make them both wonder who I was really calling and usually upsetting my son, with him saying that I do not remember his name, and my husband telling me I was easily confused. This went on for years and still continued after being married for 10 years, but then I would also include the name of the dog as well as the cat when yelling for one of the boys.
The nickname though ensued for the both of them until my son starting edging out my husband in height and weight. Little B was soon standing over Big B and Little B wanted more than ever to hold the Big B title. Instead of letting them fight to the death for the renaming convention I figured it was time to take a minute and actually remember the correct name and using proper enunciation when calling one of them. And that never happened. Thankfully it only happened when I was angry and not while the husband and I were enjoying alone time.

This was where the B originated from.
The Bee was funny in itself, since I was deathly afraid of bees. Mind you, I was not allergic to them, but they scared the life out of me and brought tears to the people around me because they would be laughing at me so hard watching me trying to get away from the bee.
I would see the bee and of course the bee would then see me, veer off course sensing my fear and start towards me, it would turn and make a 'bee' line straight for me. I would shriek and then my body would do contortions that are not for the faint of heart. I could have easily surpassed a yoga master when trying to get away from the bee without moving my feet. I would sway and dip and move my waist, as well as my neck and do this little dance, all the while no one would help me get this bee away from me because they were too busy laughing and could not move.
During this time, the bee never touched me, it was like we were having foreplay, the bee would do his dance, trying to imitate what I was doing, while I was trying my best to dodge his stinger. When my feet finally figured out what the hell I was trying to get away from they would finally obey and I would go running, arms flaying while the bee followed me.
When my son was little I would also having him freaking out at my reaction and running down the street arms flaying screaming for his life. There was a period in his life that I thought he might have a little flavor in his step, but once he started hanging out with men and in sports all of those ideas were squashed.
I still freak out to this day and when I see a bee, wasp, hornet, wood bee, anything that moves faster than I do. I let out this soundless scream that everyone can hear and I wind up freaking out those closest to me. I do not do this on purpose, but I know I pissed off my best friend once by doing this, because when she hears that noise she knows to stop, drop and roll and at times, it isn't pleasant to see a 40 year old rolling around thrashing and flaying on the ground. I also make this same noise when my husband would get too close to the car in front of us, which almost ruined all of our road trips. Now I just bury my head in a book and do not look up.
Anyways, I figured I would put a tattoo on my bucket list since I do not want to stand in an area around swarming bees. I love the honey, but do not want to take any part in helping them make the honey. So I voted for tattoo.
Still, with wanting a tattoo and getting the actual tattoo was a chore. I would always bring this up with friends when I was drinking and tried to get others to join me, I would convince them to do it with me, while they were drinking and I know that they remembered something because I would never get a call the next day confirming what we discussed the night before.
I never did get a tattoo for my birthday. I was too scared.

I wound up getting the tattoo a few days after my husbands funeral. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. My son, stepdaughter and I went to get memorial tattoos on our body. My son already had a tattoo as well as my stepdaughter, so I was the tattoo virgin. We walked in the shop, and I immediately saw all of the different designs on the wall. I tell the kids that I wanted to go first so I wouldn't see anyone in pain and chicken out. With the help of one of the people that worked there, we discussed what I wanted and she put it in motion, something really simple and sweet. We choose the wrist, so I could see it and that was it. Stepdaughter and the son picked theirs out and we had to lie so
Ashley needed parental consent in order to get hers since she was not 18, but hey I was the awesome Stepmother of all time and we all were a little bit crazy during those days, so we showed Ashley's military id and I signed for her. I think I would have bungee jumped if I thought it would make me feel better.

I went to the back room, and the man started doing my tattoo on my wrist. I was waiting for the hurting to start but he was too busy watching his television and making me squirm a bit before he started. I turned my head so I couldn't see what was happening, and I felt the pain the entire time. I then knew that all of what happened these past few weeks was not a dream and that I was already awake and alone. I cried, no longer numb.
After the tattoo healed it looks nice and simple. I knew I would not be ashamed as a grandmother, telling the kids that the name on my wrist is the love of my life and no one can ever replace the love and friendship that he gave to me every day.
I got my tattoo and am already thinking of my next one.

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