(this is annie)

Almost five years ago, and after about as much time making what I thought were empty comments about wanting a tattoo, my mother waltzed into an East Village tattoo shop and had a fleur-de-lis put on her inner wrist. That location was not her first preference; she had initially wanted the design placed on the part of her hand where thumb meets index finger. Todd, Trevor and I just barely managed to convince her that this was a bad idea. Today, while talking on the telephone, my mother and I had this conversation.

Mom: And you thought I was drunk when I went to King Billy's!

Me: Well, you were not completely sober. [This is true.]

Mom: I only had two and a half drinks! I was fine! Remember, you were clucking about how your father wasn't going to like this [also true] and you worried about the tattoo parlor being sanitary [again, true]. I still don't see why you made such a fuss about where I wanted the tattoo. I think it would have been nice to just look down and see it whenever I wanted. And YOU said I would have looked like a gang member.

Me: Well, you would have. You should be glad we were there to stop you.

Mom: I don't look like I'm in a gang. Besides, I'm sure a lot of nice people have tattoos there.

Me: Yes, and most of them are gangbangers and prisoners. Or former prisoners.

Mom: They are?

Me: Yes.

Mom, doubting me: Nooooo.

Me: YES.

Mom: Do you think maybe they were gangbangers who got the tattoos in prison?

Me: It's possible.

Mom: I don't buy it. Johnny Depp has one! He has the number three, right there on his hand!

Me: That may be the case, but I think people know Johnny Depp isn't in a gang.

Mom: Well, maybe Johnny Depp doesn't care if people think he's a gangbanger!

Labels: betty, todd, trevor