To prepare for my big Christmas celebration, I drove to the hair salon to have the world's greatest hair stylist, Mandy, add some color and trim my hair.

The salon was decorated to the hilt. After putting on a dressing gown, I left the dressing room and walked into what looked like an enormous crystal chandelier.

"Wow," I said, admiring the long, shimmering strands. "I don't remember seeing this before."

Mandy laughed. "It isn't usually there. It's part of the Christmas decorations."

Later, while she was combing my hair, who should arrive? No, not Santa Claus, but one of my best friends, Claude, waving a magic wand a friend had given her.

Meanwhile one of the other stylists walked by, his arms covered with tattoos.

"I've always wanted a tattoo," I said, before asking Mandy, "Do you have one?"

"Of course," she replied. Then I looked at Claude. Before I could say a word, she turned her leg so I could see the tattoo near her ankle.

"Don't lie to me," I said. "Did it hurt?"

Before answering, Claude tilted her head. I knew she was deciding whether to tell the truth. Then she said, "It kind of hurts but you get over it quickly."

"Yikes," I said. Then I asked the stylist next to us if she had a tattoo. "No," she replied, "I'm too chicken. But I did tattoo my lips."

"Really?" I said. "Did that hurt?"

Laughing, she said, "No, because my dentist numbed my mouth." That set all of us into hysterics. Some of the other stylists couldn't help hear our conversation, and they started to giggle too.

By this time, the tattooed stylist was finished with his client, so I got out of my chair and asked about his tattoos.

"You should get one," he said, giving me his tattoo artist's card.

"The reason I'm thinking of getting a tattoo," I said, "is because my first novel, 'Kiss My Tattoo,' is about a private detective who has a lizard tattoo sneaking out of her cleavage."

"Cool," the tattooed stylist said.

"Whenever I do book signings, there is always one person in the audience who raises their hand and asks me if I have a tattoo."

"That's awesome! What do you say?" he asked.

"I tell them only my tattooist knows for sure," I responded, by this time getting excited about the prospect of getting a tattoo. Claude, who was now sitting in Mandy's chair getting her hair done, chimed in, "I'll go with you. I'll get another tattoo. Let's do it."

"You are a bad influence on me," I said. "I love it."

When I got home, I went on Facebook and found the tattoo artist's page. I sent him a message saying I was interested in getting a tattoo, not believing I was doing so even as I typed the words.

I haven't heard back from him but who knows? My next column may have a photo of my new tattoo!

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