TATTOO CURIOSITY

A few folks have been inquisitive about my new tattoos. I always thought being tattooed was a bit frivolous, listing towards foolishness. I have numerous scars that I have earned honestly over my many years each with a story to tell...some quite interesting...some completely fabricated...like the one just below my left hip extending in a straight line to the outside curve of my patella...fancy words add to excitement and scar curiosity...I will tell my grandchildren as their curiosity wanders to grandpa's numerous scars{they become more evident with the passage of time}(scars and grandchildren)...that this lengthy scar was the result of a foolish quick draw accident when I was but a youth of their age with a new 22 pistol that only came with a left handed holster which can obviously be a dangerous situation for one born or raised as a right hander! In actuality this scar (don't anyone mention this to my children's offspring) actually came about when I decided to use a four foot, well built, solid particle board, red oak photo laminated, IKEA book case as a ladder to elevate me to a higher position in a storage unit to retrieve a most valued item that had been lost in storage for two years....I managed the climb up just fine but once the item was in my hand the combined weight of myself and the lost treasure became too great for the IKEA warehouse elevator and I began to descend (one shelf at a time) until I landed squarely on the concrete floor of the storage unit...."that wasn't so bad" I told Elaine as I stood proudly with our treasure in hand...to which she commented on the loss of a new pair of blue jeans due to the rip from pocket to knee pad...upon further investigation she suggested I do something about my new tennis shoes filling up with blood..."where'd that come from? I queried"

Have I told you about the scar that runs parallel and just above my left eyebrow....that one involves firewood and uncles and axes and gravity and eventually tricycles and motorcycles and of course more gravity...but I again digress...this is after all about tattoos.

Several have asked (with great curiosity) about my new tattoos...what are they and exactly where. Unfortunately mine are not the kind one might contemplate for months on end about...no mine were more, "here ya go mister"..."hope ya like these!"...actually the radiologist told me to hold very still (again) as she lined up my torso in the exact position and bam...she pokes me with a syringe filled with ink!!!...to which I jump and squeal (did I tell her I was a fireman?) But in my defense I do not believe this was actually a syringe like that used in a hospital but more possibly the likes of the old fountain pen I was taught to write cursive with when in grade school...those of you old enough to have at least one colonoscopy behind you (where else would you have one)...will know what I'm talking about...these pens were the reason for the small round hole in the upper right hand corner of those tiny old desks you see on antique shows or in museums...we weren't really that small...discomfort was the norm....that hole in the corner was called the ink well and the fountain pen was dipped into it to allow you to perform the magical task of putting thought to paper...at that age our thoughts were fleeting and not well suited to finding purchase on a piece of paper. The pen once dipped into the ink well and now full of our every thought would be brought to the surface of what was called paper in those days...no one had to tell you that paper was made from wood...you could see small chips and slivers of the very tree the paper came from on its surface and the pen didn't have a roller tip but was flat metal with a slit in the middle going up towards the handle (the slit being the stream on which the ink was to flow blithely towards the prose emanating from our minds caught up in that tiny little chair)....and as the metal tip of the pen hit the oooooh soooo smoooth surface of the paper our very thoughts would skate onto the surface with the flare of twenty little John Hancock's!...the end of that fountain pen was what that tattoo weapon felt like!...and you thought I had lost my train wreck of a thought of where I going with this!...which brings me back to tattoo curiosity...the tiny tattoos on my buttocks should not cause tattoo curiosity...tattoo curiosity is brought about by the girl on the Harley with the t-shirt that is struggling to find its way down to her jeans as she leans forward to control that two thousand pounds of metal muscle...you know the girl I'm talking about....the one that your wife declares..."what..is she crazy"...the one that causes fire trucks to list to that side as she passes by...the one that causes old guys with at least one colonoscopy behind them (because where else would it be) to think they ought to get a Harley...that girl, the one with the jeans that can't hold the shirt, that can't cover the top of a tattoo, that runs most of the way across her back just exposed above the belt...now that is the essence of tattoo curiosity!