BLOG: Keep markers away from children under the age of three: the pink highlighter story

My name is Anna, and I’m an inkaholic.

Let me explain.

For some reason, mothers got together back in the day and decided that, along with motorcycles and rock’n’ roll, they hated it when their children drew on themselves. Whether it’s with a pen or marker, I’ve never, ever met a mother who was completely fine with the act.

Instead, it was usually met with remarks like, “Oh, what did you do to yourself?” as though I’d cut my own hand off. An even better reply was “You’re going to wash that off, right?”

I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now. It’s ink, not venom. It’s not going to hurt your skin and it’s going to wear off eventually. Still, I don’t know many people who continued to draw on their hands and arms as they matured. Sometimes a note or two would be scribbled down, but then it was always quickly washed away before anyone could be reprimanded.

My mother was one of these mothers. I could count on one (clean) hand the amount of times I wrote something on myself, or let someone write on me.

One time in elementary school, all the girls drew pretty designs on their hands in honor of homecoming week. Everyone’s hands and arms proclaimed “Go Arrows!” It was fun, but I knew I’d get in trouble.

Sure enough, when I arrived home after the parade my mother was disgusted and immediatly made me wash it all off.

All of this was implanted into my brain and so I now have a weird aversion to drawing on myself — until last week when I was bored in my living room.

The TV wasn’t on and the remote wasn’t in reach. I don’t know the events leading up to this, because they weren’t important, but there was a pink highlighter sitting on the table next to me.

So, I grabbed it, and after looking down at my crossed legs that exposed my bare feet beneath my jeans, began to methodically color my foot pink. There’s no reason behind this action, and I realize it’s weird, but I colored with the reckless abandon of a frantic toddler who just discovered markers.

That’s when a friend showed up and saved me from myself. We talked for a few minutes before she finally noticed my foot.

“What happened?” she cried.

I joked that I had poured boiling water on my foot, and thus, a story was born. I thought it would die out, but the dang highlighter wouldn’t wash off my foot.

This bit me in the butt the next day when I ran to class in flats, exposing the topside of my purplish-pink foot. I got a few strange looks, but the boiling water joke got a few people to crack sympathetic smiles before I owned up to the weird truth.

There is still evidence of this; check out the photo on volanteonline.com.

It did wear off over the course of a week (thankfully), and I learned my lesson.

But alas, my friends and I went downtown to the bars in Vermillion for Saint Patrick’s Day weekend. There was beer, and there was Jagermeister. Everyone had a great time, but to be honest, things admittedly got a little out of hand as the evening wore closer to 2 a.m.

Before I knew it, someone produced a permanent marker and everything went to hell. I autographed a few people and a couple friends autographed my…chest area. That’s when a Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity member who graduated a few years ago decided to draw a ninja turtle on my arm — specifically, Raphael. He was very adamant that it was Raphael.

I have to admit, the cartoon was pretty cute, but it sprawled across my forearm in a very obnoxious way. I had a hell of a time getting all the ink off me in the shower the next day, but at least it wasn’t the real tattoo the SAE talked about wanting to get himself; a combination of the SAE crest and the Jedi Knight symbol.

In conclusion, ink isn’t that bad, but pink highlighters are surprisingly potent, so watch out, fellow weirdos. Keep the markers away from kids — and college students.