It Seemed Like A Good Idea
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
Thought for the day: “Why do brassieres open from the back? That’s like building a Cadillac with no doors and the only way to get in is to climb through the back window.” – Jim Foster
Back on July 29th I decided to clean out my e-mail files. One file was labelled ‘column material’ and to the best of my knowledge I put an e-mail in there in 2018 without opening it. It is an advertising promotional piece for Skin 46, The Love Tattoo Ink sent to me by Andreas Wampl from Switzerland. Obviously Andreas assumed I was somewhat of an idiot and might be interested in offering up my flawless body to a new experience – like mutilation and considerable pain.
Now I know hundreds of readers out there, possible while under the influence of hallucinatory drugs, have gone under the needle so to speak and wake up each morning hoping it was all a bad dream. But alas one peek backwards in a full length mirror to once again stare at the rose adorning your little bum confirms that short of a visit to someone with a sandblaster or backing into a lawnmower that nether garden is here to stay.
I am sure when a young miss is slim and ever so lovely with the bloom of youth in her cheeks and the cheeks of youth in her bloomers this tasteful bit of artistry will set a young man’s heart a flutter. (In fact I wouldn’t mind having a peek at it myself as long as Mary doesn’t find out.) But what about later, when this lovely lass is struggling through her senior years and what was once a colourful American Beauty rose is sagging somewhat and her once petite garden is now an acreage?
A man’s tattoo rarely causes a stir since everyone knows men are only partway through the evolutionary process and not responsible for anything they might do no matter how ridiculous.
However, Skin 46 is not your average tattoo ink. Nay, my friends, Skin 46 is made from your loved one’s hair. By simply lopping off 5 grams of his or her tresses and sending it to Switzerland they will transform it into medically-approved carbon ink and return it to you in a special glass bottle guaranteed to be completely safe and perfect for production reasons.
Think about that for a minute (well maybe a month and preferably sober) with a few snips of your kitchen scissors or garden shears you could be on your way to a whole new phase in your relationship. Your loved one can now be with you forever. For the next 60 years every time you look at your arm, leg, ankle or bum there he or she will be there to remind you that one day while blind drunk you actually went ahead with this insane idea and got tattooed.
Am I being critical of your display of love and fidelity for as long as you both shall live? Not at all! Although as you may have noticed I am not big on tattoos, but if you are sure that special person whom you adore more that life itself is the one you want to stay with until the two of you are called before the Great Judge, then by all means go for it.
Now, let us assume for the moment that your relationship has progressed to the point where you have actually seen her rose and not just heard about it from her next door neighbour with the telephoto lens. You are at that point when you know this is the one girl or boy for you. You will never be happier.
(You will note I didn’t say ‘his’ rose. A rose on a man’s bottom will almost surely guarantee the bozo will be banned from every locker room on Earth and perhaps as far away as Alpha Centauri.)
Now I know this could never happen to you, nor to your beloved, perish the thought, but what if the whole thing fell on its ass as they say in less refined circles? What if Cecil, that wonderful man who swore to cherish you forever and a day is found weeding in some other woman’s garden? And you sir, what if Hortense, the girl of your dreams, is displaying her rose to someone else like say, the Toronto Argonauts? What then?
Even worse, what if the word got out that Cecil and Hortense’s DNA will be part of you forever? And you know it will because whenever we do something stupid we have to tell somebody and our dearest friends have to tell Marie and Albert because they can keep a secret, although they never have before.
I can see it all now; Hortense finally marries and is on her honeymoon. After three days her beloved says, “I know I’m going to sound like a bit of a pervert, but when are you going to let me pull down your pants and see this tattoo everyone is talking about? And by the way, who is Cecil?”
