Tracy Beckerman is the author of a wildly popular syndicated humor column called LOST IN SUBURBIA and a hilarious new book “Rebel without a Minivan”. It's all about the funny side of kids, dogs, husbands, and life in the 'burbs!

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The Girl with the Rose Tattoo

photo credit www.milliontattoodesigns.com

 

Most people go through their adolescence when they are actually adolescents.  For me, it happened a bit later…  When I was 35.  I remember the day my unsuspecting husband came home and I modeled my new rose ankle tattoo for him.

He looked at it and then grinned.  “That’s one of the kid’s peel and stick tattoos, isn’t it?” he said smugly.

I shook my head.  “Try to scratch it off,” I said.  He did.  It didn’t.

“Why would you get a tattoo?’ he asked, dumbfounded.

“I always wanted one,” I said.

“Well I always wanted a Lamborghini,” he said.  “You don’t see me running off to get one of those, do you?”

“Tattoos are cheaper,” I replied. He threw up his arms in defeat.

A year later I got a tattoo my shoulder.  This time when I modeled it for my husband, he simply rolled his eyes and walked away.

He rolled his eyes again sometime later when I went through my pink hair stage, my blue nails stage, and my purple cowboy boots stage.  But when I announced I wanted to get my ear pierced up at the top, he finally cracked.

“Do you think that is really age appropriate, honey?” he asked me.

“I dunno.  I think I look pretty young for my age,” I argued.  “I can get away with some younger looks.”

“30, yes.  13, no.”

“Pffft.” I replied in disgust.

Ignoring my husband’s opinion, I looked around for a place to do my piercing, and ended up at somewhat questionable-looking stand in the local mall.  The fact that it was run by someone who looked like she wasn’t old enough to drive, coupled with the fact that every possible fold of flesh on her face was pierced, should have been a signal to me that I was venturing into dangerous territory.  However, I wasn’t really worried about the pain or risk of infection.  I was really, mostly just worried about being excessively humiliated.

But when I approached the stand and asked if I could get my upper ear pierced, she said the one thing that made me convince the whole outing was a brilliant decision.

“Can I see some ID, please?”

Seeing the sign posted that said, “You must be 18 to get pierced. Photo ID required,” I assumed she thought I was too young to get my ear pierced.

Giggling, I handed her the ID.

“Sorry, she said.  “Store policy.  We have to check EVERYONE.”

My grin faltered a bit.

While I checked out the earring displays, she checked out my ID.  For a minute she didn’t say anything. Then she turned to me with wide-eyes.

“Wow!” she exclaimed.  “You are, like, the oldest person I’ve ever pierced!”

I glared at her.

Almost pierced.”

 

Note:  For more Lost in Suburbia, check out Tracy’s blog at www.lostinsuburbia.net

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