This weekend I went to a Mardi Gras party. Fat Tuesday was three days earlier and hence the party was a little dilatory, although its coincidence with the weekend was convenient. For Lent I had given up Mardi Gras parties, but I realize now that it was an ambitious goal indeed. I only made it 3/40 of the way to Easter. Oh well, that's what New Year's Resolutions are for, right? At the 'Narleans' celebration there were temporary tattoos. I picked one up with a festive saxophone playing itself (there were musical notes but no lips. Huh.) and one that had a masque with feathers on it, akin to something you might see at an International Batman Convention. Where to place the tats was a serious thought on my mind from the moment I walked in the door to the moment I applied them to my moist skin two minutes later. I thought the saxophone would look good on the corner of my mouth, but then I was worried people would tell me I had a little bit of Gumbo on my lips all evening, and nobody wants that. Then I considered putting the mask tattoo on my big toe, but I was worried no one would see it. Eventually I put one tattoo on the area where my bicep should be-if I had one- and the other one where my tail should be- if I had one. Just messing, I put it on my forearm. But still, it begged the question: Where would you get a real tattoo and what would it be? I was thinking of maybe getting a really cool ottoman tattoo on my ankle so that I could give the impression that my feet were always up. I think I would get it in Shebogan, Wisconsin. I hear they have some superb parlors there.
My temporary tattoos were great all up until I had to go to the testing center. They wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been wearing a wife-beater, which also drew some ire. Meh.