I Got a Tattoo

I didn’t plan on getting a tattoo. Not that night, not that trip, not at 1 a.m. But look, a lot of you Taggies already know I’ve had the idea brewing — the travel sleeve. A tattoo for every adventure. Not necessarily something obvious like the Statue of Liberty for New York (we’re not basic), but something quirky. A jalapeño, maybe. A symbol. A little Easter egg memory from each trip that, when put together, would tell my story.

The problem? I could never quite commit to the first one. Like picking the first song at the pre-game, high-pressure, sets the tone. I had ideas, sure. But timing? Never quite lined up. Courage? Occasionally out of office.

We were walking back with the crew along the strip and Chantel side stepped right into the tattoo parlor. Laughed thinking it was a joke. But no, she was dead serious. She wanted a tattoo. And she was gonna get one.

Then she turned to me and dropped the bomb:
“We should get matching tattoos.”

I blinked. “Sorry, what now?”

Now, I know the golden rule: never tattoo your partner’s name. Or initials. Probably the same goes for matching ink. But here’s the thing: Chantel and I? We’re ride-or-die. Soulmates. Locked in.

Cue skeptical voices in your head: “That’s what they all say…”

Yeah, yeah. But here’s my take — even if (big if!) things changed one day, I’d still never regret it. I believe in living without regrets. Every moment, every detour, every beautiful mess has led me here. And this chapter — is the best part of the story so far.

So… I did it. Inked. The travel sleeve has officially begun.

And believe it or not, it nearly got its second addition just days later in Kansas City. Sam spotted a parlor, and I was this close to hopping on the table. But as the best man with a tight schedule and groomsmen wrangling duties, I couldn’t sneak away for two hours. The KC tattoo will have to wait — but trust, it’s coming.

Anyway… what happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas.