Don't Tramp on my Tramp Stamp

So the  Bug  (Beetle Bailey) was in the shop again.  Air conditioning problems.  Luckily it's still under warranty.   I took it in Thursday morning and drove a rental to work.  I figured I'd pick it up after work.  Sometime Friday evening they called and told me it wouldn't be done until Saturday.  Shit.  I had a massage to do in Dunedin at 11 on Saturday and it was 20 bucks a day for the rental...a non-descript Nissan that does not say "This is an old, liberal, hippy."  All my stuff was in the back of the Bug.  I schlepped to the dealership where Kevin, my friendly VW advisor, told me I could back the rental into the bay where poor Bailey was spread  in pieces all over the floor.  It was kind of shocking to see her guts out everywhere.  Anyway, I leaned into the back of her (THAT sounds bad) to pull the massage table out when Kevin started to laugh.  Pretty hard.   I thought maybe there was toilet paper on the bottom of my sandal.

  "I'm sorry", he said, " I just noticed your tattoo."   I always forget I have it.

I have what my daughter calls a "tramp stamp" across my lower back.   Had she told me  that's what they call them, (as she drove me to GET the damned thing), I may have gotten it placed somewhere else...maybe my arm-pits. My tattoo says "Be Careful With Me."

It's not what you think.  It's not sexual.  I stopped having sex years ago.  I neither have the time nor the desire.  I was not going for sexy or flirty.

I got the idea to use the phrase from a favorite Patty Griffin song called All the Girls.   It resonated with me at the time because, for a few years, I'd been in and out of hospitals and nursing facilities with Mom and Dad. I'd watched aides toss them around as if they weren't incredible human beings, but rather,  sacks of flour. Mom was no longer "Mom" personality-wise due to her dementia...but she was my Mom and had been quite a beautiful person both inside and out. She was elegant and modest most of her life.  Dad was very frail, no longer the take-charge, strong man he had been all his life.  But still, he had his humor and his mind. It's just his timing that was a little off due to the Parkinson's. It wasn't easy for him to talk OR to have people help him with basic bodily functions. It was humiliating for him.

So I decided to get the damned tattoo in preparation for the day when I will end up in a nursing home in an ugly little room, living on a 35 dollar-a-month allowance from Medicaid so I can pay someone  to smuggle a cheap bottle of wine in from time to time. When the aides see my  tat they might be reminded that there's a person in my body...there's a personality  in that wrinkled old thing you're tossing around.   Maybe they'll laugh, or be grossed out that this ugly little woman actually was a woman who may have had an interesting life...but I hope that Be Careful With Me  will also make them think for a moment about the human flesh they are handling.  And maybe they'll be careful.

At any rate, it sure provided a good laugh for Kevin.