Fred Aiken Writing

“You can’t get a tattoo.”

“What do you mean? I’m my own man. I’ll get a tattoo if I want.”

“Not while you’re married to me, you’re not. You can’t get a tattoo. I didn’t sign up to be married to someone that would defile their body like that.”

“Defile? What are you talking about? It’s a tattoo. It’s art.”

“I don’t like them.”

“I guess we should’ve had this conversation before getting hitched.”

“Don’t say it like that. Getting hitched. We’re not trashy people. We had a ceremony. We had a reception. Our families came. It was a nice, lovely wedding. We didn’t get hitched.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Stop getting sarcastic with me. I’m being serious. I don’t like tattoos. I don’t want you to get a tattoo. They don’t look good. They especially don’t look good the older you get. You go in for a butterfly, and then twenty years later you have some weird looking figure that looks like a vagina.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience. Do you have a tattoo that I don’t know about?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what’s your problem with them.”

“I don’t like them. I said that. I find them to be morally reprehensible, and I don’t think you should do that to your body.”

“But it’s my body.”

“That may be, but I’d rather not have to look at a tattoo.”

“You don’t even know what I would get and where I would put it.”

“Alright then, what would you get tattooed? And don’t say anywhere on your face or neck, because I especially hate those.”

“You’re sounding really judgey right now. It’s not a good look on you.”

“Come on. I’m humoring you. What would you get?”

“Well, I would get a coffee plant tattoo.”

“A coffee plant?”

“Yeah, right down my arm, vertical-wise. You know, because I work in the coffee industry.”

“And you think that’s reason enough to get a tattoo. Is it some sort of secret code where all the baristas get tattoos of coffee plants so they know that, what, they work in the coffee industry?”

“Maybe?”

“That’s insane. I don’t want you to get a tattoo. What happens when you regret it?”

“I won’t.”

“What happens when our daughter grows up and asks to get a tattoo?”

“If she’s an adult, I won’t stop her.”

“Even if it’s a tramp stamp?”

“Do people still get those?”

“Yes, now answer the question.”

“I dunno. It’s a mighty big hypothetical. My gut reaction is to say that if Hannah wants to get a tattoo when she gets older then so be it. Who am I to stand in her way?”

“You’re just saying that so I’ll let you get a tattoo. Admit it, you’d be just as appalled if she got a tattoo because her dad got a tattoo and now she thinks it’s acceptable. But it’s not.”

“Maybe, I dunno. Sure, I’m protective of my daughter. What father wouldn’t be? But I think you’re being a little ridiculous about this.”

“I don’t. I think I’m being relatively judicious, all things considered. Rash people get tattoos. Degenerates get tattoos. None of which are you.”

“Can you at least think about it?”

“I don’t know what else I could think about. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll think about it overnight. If I still have the same reservations in the morning, then you can’t get a tattoo.”

“That doesn’t sound fair. You sound like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Now you’re getting it. Now stop talking to me about tattoos and coffee plants, and turn off the light and go to bed.”