Stacey and I were web browsing in bed last night. Maggie and Sadie were at the bottom of the bed doing what dogs do when their nicknames are itchy and scratchy. Caramel was snuggled up close to me asleep and quiet for a change – content to be with her new surrogate mother. I looked over at Stacey’s laptop and she was browsing websites about body art.
“Not another one!” I exclaimed exasperated.
“I am just browsing!” Stacey said very defensively. She knows my aversion to her constant need to plaster her beautiful body with inked art. I call it defiling my sacred temple.
“What is your fascination with tattoos?” I asked. “I just don’t get it.”
“It is an expression of yourself just like jewelry, stilettos, or nice clothes.”
“I understand that,” I replied in agreement. She was looking at a design of a very ornate rose. “But there’s a big difference between a nice diamond ring and a tattoo of a menacing looking scorpion on your ass.”
Stacey just laughed and laughed at my candor and crassness.
“I won’t get another one just for you,” she said acquiescing with an apprehensive smile.
“Well, if you do get another, then get it in an inconspicuous place. Your tattoos drive my family crazy.”
“How about this rose on my shoulder?” she asked showing me the screen of her laptop.
“I have to admit that is kind of classy,” I said of the beautiful rose she displayed.
“My favorite artist is in Columbus,” Stacey told me. “Will you go with me?”
“Only if we can eat at Steak and Shake afterwards,” I replied.
“It’s a deal,” Stacey said. “It will take several visits. And I will pay this time. You always have to pay for everything.”
I’ve never seen a tattoo being administered. I want to be there when she gets it. I want to see the wince on her face from the pain and ask her if it’s really worth it. I know it has to be painful to be continuously pricked with a needle like that.
The last thing I remember from last night was curling up with Caramel as Maggie crept up to join us getting as close to me as she possibly could. Stacey was still browsing websites about body art and I could see her wonderful face from the glow of the LCD screen in my dark bedroom. Sadie was snoring at the foot of the bed at Stacey’s feet. We were just one big happy family.
“Night sweetheart,” Stacey said as she looked over at me and the dogs with my eyes closed.
“Night,” I said sleepily. “I love you.”
And I was asleep after looking at the clock one more time. It read 8:30pm.
I am fatigued about writing about the whole fiasco with my father. I bet you all are as well. I am going to concentrate on more positive writings for the blog for a change. I might digress from time to time, but I am going to try to concentrate on the positive aspects of my life. I have so much more good going on than bad that I would be remiss writing about all that crap and not sharing with you all my recent successes. I feel like a butterfly coming out of it’s chrysalis. No longer am I that ungainly and frumpy looking green caterpillar. I have emerged a new man these past few weeks – a Monarch among Monarchs. I am going to concentrate more on tales from work which is always interesting and stories of Stacey and I – all positive aspects of my life.
The Last Cigarette of my Life…
I walked into Fat Albert’s convenience store yesterday afternoon with my wallet in hand. I was almost out of cigarettes and was going to buy another carton – dad no longer paying for my expensive addiction.
“What can I help you with?” the very portly clerk asked me with a fake smile.
“A carton of Doral Gold 100s box,” I replied.
I readied my debit card to be swiped in the reader.
“That will be $38 dollars,” the clerk said. “Debit or credit?”
“$38 dollars for a carton of cigarettes?!” I exclaimed.
“They’ve gone up again,” the clerk replied apologetically. “They keep adding more taxes to them.”
“Do you have anything cheaper?” I asked hoping for the best.
“The cheapest is Gold Coast 100s for $30 dollars,” the clerk replied.
“No thanks,” I said. “Sorry to trouble you.”
I walked out of the door shaking my head. I know I should be more concerned with the health aspects of smoking, but I was more worried about the cost. $38 dollars is a lot of hours of pushing carts inside Wal-Mart. I smoked my last cigarette on the drive home – the last Doral I had in my pack. It has now been ten hours since I last had a smoke and so far I feel fine. I am determined as hell about this. I am not ever going to smoke another cigarette again and be a slave to that habit. I can’t justify the costs of having to work so hard for such a nasty addiction. Let the slaves be free!