sharks and tats

What? You thought I was joking about the tour of "shark-mouth" souvenir stores?

Well, I wasn't.

But as it turns out, there were really only two stores.

It seemed like there were a lot more on the drive down.

I'm heartbroken to inform you that I did not get a shark-in-a-jar. Even though I pitched a fit in the middle of the store, my parents did not give in. I told them I was 22 years old, and plenty responsible enough to take care of a shark-in-a-jar. Then they reminded me that I am, in fact, 22 years old. That was the end of the argument.

Since I was so upset about not getting the shark, and because I wanted to demonstrate my independence, I decided to get a real tattoo instead of a henna tattoo:

So true, so true.

Although we had a great family getaway, it's good to be home. Because that's where the pie is (and the praline chocolate cake... but you'll have to wait for another post to hear about that).