Normally mom and I see eye to eye on most issues. However, the generational divide definitely presents itself on the topic of tattoos; more specifically my tattoos. To say she hates them would be an understatement. She absolutely positively detests them with every fiber of her being. The first one I got when I was 18 made my mom literally cry. She shed actual tears. Like big time….for like an entire week. “Why, TLW, why?! Why would you do that to yourself!? I just don’t understand!”
Tats #2 and #3 have yet to be discovered by Mom which is fantastic because I couldn’t even deal with two more weeks of wailing and moaning and carrying on like it’s an Italian funeral or something.
The most recent addition was added back in May in a more visible spot. I knew she had seen it but was waiting for just the right moment in her dance of passive aggression to comment. We were discussing potential outfits for an event I’m going to in a couple of weeks. Tirade went as follows:
“Well, I would say you could wear that blue dress of yours but you clearly can’t because of that awful TATTOO on your back. I guess that dress will be going to Goodwill then?! You certainly can’t wear that anymore, that’s for sure. Honestly, TLW, why do you continue to mar your body?! What is that anyways? A lightening bolt? Oh it’s not? It’s what? Oh my god, TLW, how ridiculous! I don’t care if the Year of Aquarius! So you mean to tell me that just in case you’re in line at the movie theater and the person behind you wants to know to your sun sign then you’re good to go?! RIDICULOUS! I swear to God I raised you better than to look like sailor or biker or a streetwalker even……”
………….and for the sake of brevity I’ll go ahead and just stop here. Needless to say the verbal assault continued on for the next ten minutes while I sat there finishing up my glass of vino. (I may have one sipped that glass, I can’t really remember). When she finally ran out of steam I said that I appreciated her input and would definitely take it under consideration the next time I’m getting a new tattoo. Before she could even start in again I flashed her a quick smile, said “see ya” and got the hell of out there.
I think for her birthday I’m going to get some of those fake tattoos and plaster them all over my body. Then, once she calms down, I’ll tell her that they’re fake and take them off and say “Happy Birthday! Now aren’t you happy they’re not real? That’s your present. Me, not covered in tattoos. Yeah! Now let’s eat some cake!”.