Ye 20 years ago, my Aunt said, “Nancy, will you go to church with me tomorrow? Then after church, we’ll go out to eat and stop and get tattoos.”
I said, “Okay.”
And that is what we did. She got roses on her ankle; I got this on my left calf at Big Ed’s in Damascus. Then we ate meatball splashes at some place down in Lisbon.
Of course, my legs were prettier back then even with the surgical scars.
My mother flipped in disbelief – she kept asking if it was one of those temporary stickers – and my oldest cousin flipped on his mother by giving her a stern lecture on the dangers on getting tattoos.
She is 85 years old now and still as spunky as ever.
I went to see her in the ICU yesterday. Doctors gave her a choice: do nothing OR fly to Cleveland for a risky procedure. There are complications, but she is a fighter. She opted to fly.
Barnbees 