A poorly done tattoo of an animated stuffed animal is a prime example of why not all young people are prepared to make such long-term decisions about their bodies. A few years ago in my mid-20s, I asked my mother why the hell she let me go through with it. “You really wanted it,” she responded duly. I guess she was teaching me to lie in the beds I make for myself. She should consider it a job well done. At the time, it wasn’t weird that I was a high schooler with an over-appreciation for a children’s cartoon character. I come from a time and place where grown men had Spongebob Squarepants spray-painted on their shoes. Older women I knew had stuffed Tweety Birds in the same bed their boyfriends slept in with them. My younger cousin has two kids and still squeals when she sees Mickey or Minnie Mouse. Even today, Gucci Mane’s Bart Simpson chain is the stuff of legend, and this year hip-hop blogs went crazy when Quavo revealed an iced-out Ratatouille pendant . The point is that it wasn’t wildly inappropriate that I would get an innocuous being I loved the most placed permanently on my body.