I’ve made mistakes in my life.
Rarely I get through an entire day without a regret. People who claim to have #noregrets just haven’t dug deep enough into their sent text messages. “Nice! I did send that ‘U up?’ text to my ex last night. Phew!” That was totally worth it dude. I just hope the text ring doesn’t awake her loving husband who doesn’t have a drinking problem.
Bottom line is that we’ve both been dealing with a perpetual string of regrets our entire lives and no hashtag can unsend a text, unwatch Two Girls, One Cup, or undo those stocks you bought in Radio Shack. We just have to prepare for them and hope to God that they don’t consume us.
This was no different.
I was fully prepared to regret getting an exact replica of an 18-year-old reality star’s pink “Sanity” hip tattoo etched on my body until my body is no more after losing a bet to Rebecca. I geared up for the impending humiliation after the entire experience was broadcasted to bros worldwide on the BroBible Snapchat (BroBible1). I was fully expecting a call from my father telling me I should have been a BJ. I was anticipating my grandfather crawling out of his grave to spew homophobic slurs in my direction and question the size of my penis.
But after I walked out of that probably unlicensed tattoo parlor, I didn’t feel a hint of regret. No, no, far from it. I felt dignified. Sexy, even. How can you blame me? Look at this beaut.
I didn’t care about my dad calling because guys with tattoos don’t care about their dads (hey dad, fuck you!). I stopped worrying about my grandfather crawling out of his grave because that was a long-shot in the first place. What’s the matter gramps, that coffin nailed too tightly for ya? Weight room, bro.
What I did start worrying about is what time the nearest Harley Davidson shop closed that night because this parlor didn’t hook me up with a complimentary chopper with my tat. And as my fellow BroBible editors were pumping me full of shots (NO CHASER!), I started brainstorming my next tat–‘REGRETZ’ in Comic Sans across my forehead. You don’t like? I don’t remember asking. I’m a pitbull off his leash.
And yo, If anyone knows the proper protocol on how to enter a gang, hit me up. I can put a resume together with two reliable references.
P.S. Let me know if you have any openings in your band. I can play the drums now I think.
P.P.S. I haven’t stopped thinking about cotton_kelly’s hurtful words.
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