Kids These Days...

So, my baby cousin B turned 18 the other day. B was a wonderful surprise package to our family that arrived just after my own high school graduation. She is the classic "baby" of the family, using her baby-ness to get her way all while trying to act just as grown as the rest of us. And we all adore her for it. I mean it, we literally ADORE her. Her nickname as an infant was "Precious". Her first Halloween, I stood in my aunt's backyard spray painting white fun fur neon pink so we could dress her as a magic troll doll.
She was one of the first people to ride in my convertible when I was 19. Seeing as it was new, we drove with the top down. Seeing as it was March in Chicago, we left the windows up and the heat on. B begged me to "Turn the wind OFF!" and was not pleased that I couldn't.
My own son is just 4 years younger than B, and my daughter just 6 years, so they have always had a special relationship. My daughter A especially adores her. B spent a weekend with us when she was 8 and A was 2. A insisted on dressing as much like B as humanly possible. That was also the weekend B refused to hold my husband's hand because he was a "boy" even if he did teach her how to hail a cab. Which is a skill she has used recently, thank you very much.
Well, B used her new found adulthood to make a permanent decision. She got a tattoo. Now, I am not anti-tatoo. I have one myself that I got when I was 27. I wanted one when I was 18, but my parents would have killed me, and I was scared enough of them not to do it.
I'm glad B knows she is so loved that we will still adore her, inked or not. But I worry about 35 year old B regretting her choice. Her tattoo screams 18, almost as bad as the theatre masks I wanted at her age. And she put it in a rather conspicuous spot, one that isn't easy to hide. My husband and I have been giving her a hard time on facebook. We've been getting flamed a bit by her fellow 18 year olds who probably don't realize we are people that love B enormously and are trying to make her think about her life a few more years down the road.
What I want to know is when did I get so un-cool to be the one trying to talk someone out of getting inked. When B was 4, we were AWESOME. Now we get the old @@. (That's teenager for eye roll, see, I am awesome).