...and they're spectacular
I get a lot of stupid questions about my enormous, full-back tattoo, mainly at the gym. And while the questions are exhausting--because I am the 1% minority of introverted inked peeps--at least no one grabs me (from behind! terrifying!!!), as so often happens in bars.
Last night's locker room question, however, took the cake. "Excuse me... are those real?"
"My tattoos?" I asked. She nodded. "Well, yeah." I barely contained my sarcastic snort. What the hell, man? Would anyone seriously paint on a full-back piece every morning? And how? And then go to the gym??? So much duh in one question...
But! You will be proud of me, dear readers. I suffered through the rest of the conversation with a smile and politely jammed about the hours of work, pain (which is half the point, I say), etc. I must be mellowing in my old age.
Last night's locker room question, however, took the cake. "Excuse me... are those real?"
"My tattoos?" I asked. She nodded. "Well, yeah." I barely contained my sarcastic snort. What the hell, man? Would anyone seriously paint on a full-back piece every morning? And how? And then go to the gym??? So much duh in one question...
But! You will be proud of me, dear readers. I suffered through the rest of the conversation with a smile and politely jammed about the hours of work, pain (which is half the point, I say), etc. I must be mellowing in my old age.