If you don't know me, allow me to tell you that I am coated in tattoos. My left arm from shoulder to mid-forearm is all florified. My right arm has a big 9/11 memorial. So around this time of year, when I start wearing sleeveless tops, I get remarks.
So the new guy at work sees me in the lunchroom.
"Hi" he says. (He's never said hi before.)"Hi."
"So, you like tattoos?" (No, hate 'em. I'm wearing them as a form of masochism. Here's your sign.)
"Yes."
"Is that the World Trade Center?"
"Yes."
"Do you change them around sometimes?" (Oh. My. Gods.)
"No, they're permanent."
"Oh."
It went on, but that was the fun part. For variant definitions of fun.
(Cross-posted at Property of a Lady. Which is like home for me.)[That's all, folks]
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