A nice kind of life.

It's the best kind of day.  A mostly clean house, hours of uninterrupted knitting and a lovely old movie I've never before seen.  The first sock is done:

And the second toe done.  I need to figure out how to reinforce the heel so it doesn't wear too quickly.  

I have spent a good deal of the day avoiding any contact between fabric, the couch, my husband and my new tattoo:

Yes, it hurt.  I wanted to die all during the first ten minutes, but then I just wanted to repeatedly hit the artist.  I love it and it's beautiful, but getting tattooed seems to be like having a baby; you forget once it's over how much it hurt or you would never do it again.  Don't tell Mom.  Despite the fact that it's merely a ball of yarn and some needles, it may as well be a leopard ripping my flesh, exposing bloody veins underneath with the words, "Satan is my Husband" over the top for all the difference the content makes to her.  So, it's our secret.  Sweet.