Here I am, seventy years old and I got another tattoo last month. Maybe my brain hasn’t aged with the rest of my body. I got my first tattoo almost fifty years ago when I was a young sailor in the Navy. It is an anchor with my name. I don’t remember how much I paid for it, but it has faded a lot less than some of my newer ones.
My second tattoo is a heart with my wife’s name. It is about forty years old and has faded almost to the point where you can’t read the name. Next, I got a picture of a butterfly with my daughter’s name inscribed. It too is fading fast.
Of course, I’ve gotten tattoos with both of my grandson’s names. One is a devil with angel wings and a halo. The other is two dinosaurs fighting. I’ll let the readers figure out the significance.
For years, I’ve been telling my son in law that I was going to get one more tattoo with his name. I had been thinking of a donkey’s ass on my mine. In the “end”, I changed my mind. I did get a commemorative tattoo when I was in Nassau. A simple poop emoji.
About the only thing it has in common with my previous artworks is the fact that they aren’t visible. I have to lower my britches to show it. With all of my other tattoos, I have to raise my sleeves. I guess maybe the dinner table wasn’t the best location for the first public showing.