I have a ball cap that reads “Scars Are Tattoos With Better Stories”. I like that hat ’cause I generally believe this to be true since most tattoos are generally the result of something that seemed like a good idea at the time and scars tend to be something else entirely.
But’cha know what? I was walking down one of the main thoroughfares of the hospital last week and I ended up stalled behind a radiologist leading this frail little old lady down the hallway to MRI. Teeny and tiny, she was probably all of 80 lbs. sopping wet.
As I got closer and tried to pass them I noticed that this frail little old granny lady had blurred, bleary, tired old tattoos on her arms and legs. And I was like, wow, that’s weirdly interesting. Then she accidentally dropped her crumpled pack of cigarettes and when she bent over to pick them up, her ill-fitting KISS t-shirt drooped away from her scrawny chest and I saw she had tattoos on her shriveled up old lady boobs too.
Ewww. I WAS SO NOT LOOKING AT HER BOOBS, OK?
But so anyway.
So I passed them by and moved on with my life and presumably they moved on with theirs but it made me wonder- what kinda strange and possibly interesting life had that little old lady led that had resulted in all those now indistinct blue-black blobby tattoos?
Maybe sometimes tattoos can have a good story too, ya know?