The Tattoo Club

Well, I joined it. Its a whole new world. Like when you paint your skin another color to empathize with another racial group. Or not like that. More like getting a boob job? Anyway, its a bit of a sociological experiment I seem to be in. I got a huge tattoo on my upper thigh, so when I wear shorts, it peeks out mysteriously (not my words ;-O). Taunting. All the tattooies (boy I love saying that) must ask. They see it, they can't resist... But in their defense it is an amazing, unusual piece of scientific artwork. Anatomically correct and all.

First, I forced it upon my friends. They obliged, ooh ooh, its so big. and colorful. and well, grotesque. It is a praying mantis. A giant, beautiful praying mantis.

Now, a week and a half in, its healing extremely well and I'm allowed to bring it out in public more. Its less of an 'open wound' than it is an 'itchy, uncomfortable sunburn crusting over'. So, i slather it down with sunscreen or make like a vampire and remain indoors until the witching hour. I also took it out at the gym. Once in the ladies locker room, where a wholesome, well-rounded, straight a's kinda woman abruptly exclaimed, 'wow! that's a cool tattoo!" I coyly thanked her and she couldn't resist staring, saying, "it just pops out at you!"

Then later, I was all sprawled on the stretching mat, where another sweet girl said to me..."that's a pretty tattoo!" and proceeded to tell me she had a butterfly in the same spot. Err, it's a grotesque canabalistic predatory insect, not 'pretty.' I guess my artist was good! So, being the science educator I must be, I asked if she knew what kind of insect it was, and she said, "a grasshopper!" to which I showed her in full, no, rather the raptorial killing machine front legs are not that of a grasshopper, and she guessed correctly with the full monty.

Then today, at my favorite beer stop/the ultimate job for death metal boys who have little aspirations beyond makin it in the HUGE music genre for metal, I had another encounter. I wasn't showing it off, but from afar I could see these boys/clerks were glaring for a view as I approached. I assumed my smelly, paint covered t-shirt and wedgy sporting athletic shorts were the real draw, but alas, their real purpose was revealed when I put my beer on the counter for purchase. No sooner did I hear the kerthunk of my six bottles of malty stout goodness hit the counter, did the clerk assert, "what's your tattoo of?" and I realized I had joined the club. My body had now become a public art house. I became instantly more accesible to the clerks. I no longer looked like the straight-laced, upper middle class lady I had been fronting as all along. So, I threw the dog a bone, exposed my badass artwork and fed the beast. It seemed satiated.

I gotta say, I'm enjoying being a walking canvas. I think the tat bug may have gotten me...if I can bear the pain pain pain again.