Franklyn had what seemed like a tiny tattoo between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand. It was more of a little scratch than a design. No one had really noticed it, except for Barbara. She’d asked Franklyn about it and he said that indeed it was a scratch. He’d been cleaning the wood burner, scratched his hand, and when the tiny wound healed it entrapped a bit of soot. Hence the tattoo.
Barbara had jokingly said that she never would have believed she’d fall in love with a man with a tattoo! And now she was invited to Franklyn’s twenty-fifth birthday party, and Barbara sensed that this was to be the big day. He would “pop the question”.
At the party there were quite a few familiar faces, and quite a few friends of Franklyn that she had never met before. Barbara moved through the room, introducing herself and, in fact, charming many. It was then she noticed something strange. Franklyn was not the only one with a tiny tattoo between his thumb and forefinger. Rick had one, as did Dave. Barbara quietly observed. In the end she counted eight guests, all males, with the tiny tattoo.
She asked Franklyn about it. That night, Barbara died in her sleep.
Neil had a problem. There was very little space on his body left for further tattoos. The problem was, his mother had died and he needed to honour her by using her ashes for a tattoo. His father’s ashes were used to tattoo his right arm and shoulder, and his brother the left. Two girlfriends covered his chest and torso, and an old, greatly-loved aunt filled the buttocks. Two of his numerous kids were on each leg. His best friend covered his back, and another ex-girlfriend did the neck.
And now his mother had upped and died and there were very few places left on his body.
“Stuff it,” thought Neil, “enough is enough.” He took his mother’s ashes and chucked them in the trash.
You’ve no idea how relieved his mother would have been.