To Be Tattooed

I woke up this morning with a tattoo. It’s a fluid , graceful horse head sitting delicately on my right ankle. It’s lovely.

It wasn’t there when I went to bed and I don’t remember going out and getting drunk. If I did go out and get drunk, I would  remember some of it – wouldn’t I?

I stumbled out of my room blurry-eyed and headed for the coffee pot. At least my new body art didn’t hurt. Or maybe I was really really drunk. As caffeine coursed through my blood, I became aware of giggling coming from the living room.

There sat my eight year old son and seven year old daughter.

Or at least I think it was them.

It was hard to tell through the tattoos covering them from head to foot, but the giggles sounded familiar. My husband reclined on the couch, his right arm tattooed clear down to the hand holding the remote. I guess I should consider myself lucky that only my foot and ankle were accessible to the tatoo bandits giggling on the living room floor.

When they saw me watching, the little tribal covered beings chased after me , each with a sponge in one hand and slips of plastic coated paper gripped in the other. I barely escaped into my bathroom with my coffee before the sponge slapped wetly against the door and the giggling fiends went in search of another victim.

I think I heard a cat yowl.

Should I tell them I don’t have any rubbing alcohol to remove their decorations?
No more sleeping in for me if it means my husband has to take the kids to the store with him. Who knows what they will come home with next.

Knowing my luck, my husband will decide to let them play doctor and I will wake up strapped to the bed by bandages. And with my luck, the tattooed cat will be in there with me.

13 Comments on “To Be Tattooed”

  1. alantru says:

    Watch out, Claire. This is how it always begins. Next it’s a henna tattoo and from there it’s just a skip and jump to “Lydia The Tattooed Lady Town.”


  2. Pat Bertram says:

    I always wondered if women who get tattoed ever thought what it would look like when they were old. Not pretty. As you said, walking on thorns. Ouch. And that’s not the only ouch — needles? Just for a bit of body graffiti? I think not.

  3. I think I would have to have been really been drunk to go through with it in the first place, but it really was the thought of where it would end up that stopped me from actually going through with it.

  4. Sounds like you sleep to soundly. Just hope you don’t wake up in a bathtub of ice with your kidneys removed.

    • Well don’t give my kids any ideas! I can see me stumbling out of the bathroom holding my innards in place. The kids will be in the living room playing Monkey in the middle with my kidneys.

  5. I’ve always enjoyed the fact that temporary tattoos turnout looking like their on the arm of an 80 year old sailor, just kind of a bluish-purple blob. Kids, God love ‘em, (‘cause somebody has to).

    • I really couldn’t believe how well these turned out. They were pretty good quality I guess. I’m just glad they didn’t put one on my forehead. Or on my nose.

  6. This reminds of the work of a couple of little boys I know. I happily landed on your blog today via another. I’ll be back to read more. 🙂

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