Really got a kick out of this blog and want to share with my throngs (throng?) of readers.


I’m rolling up my sleeves. No, I’m not about to perform hard labor or enter a bare-knuckle boxing ring with Frankie the Forehead, I’m showing you my tattoos. What? Just because I’m married and wear collared shirts and have a crippling fear of moths I can’t cover my body in sweet tatts? That’s prejudicial. In fact, isn’t that what Jane Austen’s classic tale, Pride and Prejudice, is about? If my terrible memory serves me correctly, the story is about a grizzled tattoo artist, Mister Davey, and this high-strung broad named Liz Benson who hates everything except sweet tatts. That’s about right, isn’t it? I sure hope so, because that was the gist of the essay I wrote for the SAT’s II. I never did see the test results, though-probably because our proctor had a fainting spell in the middle of the test. It was on the news and everything…

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