Came across a story the other day that underscores the permanence of the decisions we make in our youth. It is a wry piece with a hint of sadness. In a book I co-wrote with Laura Ingraham, Of Thee I Zing, we opined on the tattoo fad writing: "Please don't call it 'body art.' Tattoos are not only disgusting, but they change shape as you age. That cool eagle tattooed on your shoulder at age eighteen, by forty-five looks like a seagull with leprosy."
What follows is the tale of a deflated unicorn and the lasting mark of the choices we make on a whim. For those with friends or kids contemplating marking themselves with a tattoo or in more profound ways, read this and be warned: