“I kind of want to get a tattoo while we’re here,” Matt told me on Thanksgiving Day as we wandered the streets of Amsterdam.

I wasn’t shocked–Matt is constantly coming up with impulsive ideas and acting on them–but I was a bit skeptical that he’d actually follow through. Choosing a tattoo design can be a long, difficult process, and we only had two days left in the city.

So I told him that if he got a tattoo in Amsterdam, so would I.

I’m not impulsive by a long shot. I plan my days down to the hour, and I fully think through even the smallest decisions.

And yet, I found myself the next day in a Dutch tattoo parlor under the needle.

Matt and I kept our tattoos secret from everyone until we returned so we could hear them squealing “you just casually got a tattoo? In Amsterdam??”

No, no, friends. Matt just got a tattoo in Amsterdam. I have been planning this for a year and a half.

I never thought I’d get a tattoo. I didn’t have anything against them, but there’s my whole indecision thing and the whole permanence thing, and it just didn’t seem to be in my cards. And then a year and a half ago, I woke up from a dream where I had four tattoos and loved them all.

Suddenly, I desperately wanted a tattoo. I researched the process, decided on a design, and imposed a yearlong waiting period for myself to make sure it was the right decision. A year came and went, and I still wanted it, but I was a camp counselor, and I had to swim every day at work. New tattoos and water do not mix.

So I never got it.

That is, until Matt provided an opportunity to get it right there and then.

Ultimately I decided I’d rather regret getting a tattoo in Amsterdam than not getting a tattoo in Amsterdam. At least if I didn’t like it, I’d have a good story to tell, right?

(And for the record, I don’t regret it. And the story’s still good.)

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