An erstwhile Jew riffs on the idea of permanent ink, and reluctantly agrees to consider going under the needle.

My editor and I have a strange dynamic. He suggests a column and I immediately tell him it is a very bad idea. I then ponder awhile and decide to write it. This tete-a-tete proves me to be the literary equivalent of the girl who plays hard to get but always ends up putting out. Given that I get paid, I am a whore.

So, when my genius editor asked that I get a tattoo, I remarked that his ideas had crawled past bad into horrific.

First, getting a tattoo is against the religion of my youth, Judaism. It would offend my father (deceased) and my mother, 91, who would die upon seeing my shiny new tat.

You literally cannot even be buried in a Jewish cemetery if you have a tattoo. Something about desecrating the holy work of God, the human body. I get that. (This rule is ignored if you got your brand against your will by Nazis. Exceptions, you know?)

Not that my goal is today or ever has been to be buried in a Jewish cemetery. With my mix of Judaism, atheism, Buddhism and all the Christians I hang out with, it will probably be decided by a tribe of coexistence elders that I should be torn apart by a pack of dogs or delighted ex-girlfriends.

Tattoos are so not me. I am neither a merchant marine, hipster nor gangster. Like Sartre, I am more about actions and participation than sketching deep beliefs on flesh. My credo: Leave the facial tats, my bads and Hangover cameos to Mike Tyson.

Still, my editor had gotten into my head. He told me all about this place, American Monarch Tattoo, over on Abrego in Monterey, and how they are doing a “Flash Friday” special for $50-$200, where each of their artists handpaints a sheet of original “flash” designs. First come, first served. (I better hurry!) Editor intelligentsia said they could be seen on Instagram @American Monarch Tattoo and Facebook (whatever that means). I could feel his final pitch building: “For $50 I could have a piece of artwork that lasts a lifetime and goes everywhere I go. Like herpes.”

Finally, thanks to my editor, I could have a lifelong regret, a tattoo. $50 for the design, $5,000 for its removal.

I said “No.” Firmly.

Still, for the first time in 50 years, I thought “Hmmm, if had to get a tattoo, what would I get?” Of course, my mind always went back to “tramp stamp.” So Tanya Harding .

Still, the idea rolled in my head. While hanging out with a group of hip 20 – and 30-something Christians at a pub, I asked the table if any of them had tattoos. Each quickly answered “no” and laughed. Then it came to me that the minister at the head of the table is married to a beautiful woman with a tattoo. Not thinking, I blurted “Hey B, lets get your wife on the phone. She has a tattoo.” The rev’s mood quickly changed.

“How do you know that?”

Always, for me it came back to this: Why get a tattoo?

Then it hit me. Every day I work as a volunteer with the homeless. I am always looking for ways to make money for the things they need. Trinkets like blankets, food and homes. I would be willing to get a tattoo if I gave the money from this column to help them. Assisting others: the reason my wife stays with me.

My editor agreed.

But still what tat to get? After much thought and perhaps a puff of California creativity, it came. Something that was long ago tattooed on my heart. Which, by the way, is exactly the wrong place to get a tattoo. Ask any cardiologist.

On my shoulder, not my heart, I am getting two words: “Never forget.”

For those outside the know, “Never forget” originates not only from 9/11 but from almost 70 years as a way to honor the people who perished in the Holocaust. Just the right tat for a sometimes nice Jewish boy. Mom might even approve. It also honors my recently deceased friends Frieda Kahane and The Sterns, folks who survived those death camps and went on to raise children in the hopes of a more humane humanity.

“Never forget” will remind me every day to never forget my homeless brothers and sisters out on the street.

Sadly, because of my lack of steroid use – and lack of Arnold iron pumping – my shoulder is not big enough to write a phrase I also love: “We are brothers and sisters all.” A truth that would make us all a little kinder.

And in the end, getting the tat did not hurt at all. Fist bump, Kristina. You rock like Mt. Rushmore.

I pray my editor’s next idea is not to get a tongue piercing. On this, I had an easy way out – I got temporary ink

AMERICAN MONARCH TATTOO 847 Abrego St., Monterey. 324-0566, “Flash Friday” one-off designs, first come, first serve, $50-200. First Friday every month through December 2014.