How it happened.
When I turned 45 I started wanting to do something to mark my birthdays. Something big. The first big marking was parasailing. I flew in a hot air balloon for one. With my grown son and daughter one year, we went up on one of those giant human slingshot rides that have a rather scary free-fall for a stomach dropping few hours, I mean, few seconds. At 49, I rode every single roller coaster at Great American in San Jose, CA.
I started thinking I wanted to do something really permanant and lasting to mark turning 50 and the idea of a tatoo started forming in my head. I started thinking about what I wanted and where I wanted it. I wanted something that was easy to cover when I wanted to, and easy to show when I wanted to.
The tatoo artist tried very hard to talk me out of getting something on the top of my foot, but that's what I wanted. They said it would be too painful. It hurt a bit, but it ain't nothing like childbirth, so eh. Too old? That's not a reason.
Oddly, though, I stopped marking birthdays after the tatoo, much to my husband's relief.