On the eve of our six month anniversary, I pretended to get my boyfriend’s name tramp stamped onto me. Now before you get the idea that I’m some sort of psycho, I should clarify that it was technically April Fool’s Day, so it was mostly in good fun.
It started when my boyfriend’s roommate asked me if I had planned anything devious for the upcoming day. By this point in our relationship, I was slowly coming down from “perfect girlfriend land,” and was slowly starting to test the waters, showing him my true self. By true self, I mean in the “I allowed him to see the semi-meltdown I had in McDonalds at 2 AM when they said they were ‘out of ice cream’” way, not in the “being seen without makeup on” way. However, all of the April Fool’s jokes that I had thought of were juvenile, and wannabe Youtube prankster at best. His roommate and I, being the bored decided to google “April Fool’s jokes to play on your boyfriend.” The results only reminded me that while I may do some slightly crazy things, they pale in comparison to the true psycho girlfriends out there. The girlfriends who were advising faking pregnancy, cheating, and breaking up with the men who are lucky enough to be their boyfriends.
I did, however, like the idea of faking something. After some deliberation, we decided that the best course of action would be to fake a tattoo. The idea had stemmed from a story that I had read years ago, where a girl tattooed her boyfriend’s name on her face, and he promptly (and rightfully) broke up with her the second that he saw it. My boyfriend knew that I never even let drugstore makeup touch my face, so he definitely wouldn’t have believed I let some tattoo artist near it, so I needed a place that was a bit more subtle. My lower back was perfect. Concealable in location, and just the right amount of crazy.
I wanted the execution to be perfect. His roommate and I could have simply said that we were going out for a bit, and I could have come back with the tattoo, but that seemed basic and thoughtless. So instead, we told my boyfriend (who was slaving over his physics homework) that the two of us were heading to the bar, and to expect us back whenever. The plan was simple. We were going to pretend to get a bit tipsy at the bar, and me, being the loving girlfriend that I am, would stumble into a tattoo parlor, remember our anniversary, and get his name permanently tattooed on me. It was a perfectly believable story that I’m sure has tragically been done by many girls before.
The plan was more difficult at part two. We needed to make him believe that we had left the bar and were on our way to the tattoo parlor. Using my iPad, I searched for photos of local parlors, and with my phone, I began to Snapchat photos of the photos. After a few tries, and our combined effort, at just the right angle, the photos were completely believable. My boyfriend started calling us repeatedly, sending us “WTF ARE YOU DOING???” texts. At this point, with one last snap of “me and my tattoo artist” (some random older looking dude), I decided that my phone was ‘dead’ and stopped responding to him completely. During all of this, I realized that, as well as this plan was going, I actually had nothing to make the tattoo with. We began to gather our supplies. A sharpie marker, saran wrap, and tape (used to ‘cover’ the tattoo after, since apparently that’s what happens IRL).
We were greeted by my boyfriend at the front door, who looked equal parts worried and angry. “What did you do?” he demanded. I put on my best drunken demeanor and said, “Hold on, I have to go pee,” and ran into the washroom. This, of course, was all part of the plan, as his roommate started talking frantically to him “just pretend you like it, okay? I tried to talk her out of it, but it’s done now, so don’t hurt her feelings.” I ran out of the bathroom, straight to Alex, lifted up the back of my shirt, and said “do you like it?” The look on his face was priceless. He stood in shock, until he began rambling, unsteadily trying to reassure me by saying, “It’s nice! I like it! I just wasn’t…expecting it.”
Unfortunately, his fake praise was short-lived. When he asked to see it again, he noticed that the end of the ‘x’ had smudged. There were only two options. Either I had gone to a terrible tattoo artist, or it was fake. Being the smart guy that he is, it took him a few seconds before saying “you’re such a psycho,” and smudging the rest of the tattoo.
I learned three things that night. The first being that if I ever do drunkenly get his name tattooed onto me, he’s going to at least fake being nice about it. The second is to never trust his opinion on anything ever again. He called a trashy looking tattoo ‘nice.’ The third is that I now know he defined psycho girlfriend as faking a tattoo. So if I ever need him to break up with me, or commit me, I’ll just fake a pregnancy..
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