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I know, I know. I’m a 53 year old, deaf broad and it's been 30 odd (way odd, thank you very much) years since I came off the road with the carnival. Why now?
When I was with the show, tattoo ‘artists’ (and, believe me, that NEEDS to be in serious scare quotes) were everywhere. If you wanted a ‘lil’ devil, a valentine heart with birds or your squeeze-of-the-moment’s name emblazoned on a body part (just waiting to be tattooed over after the inevitable breakup) -- well, boy howdy that was easily done.
This was crap art with a capital E for Excremental Stinky Poopage.
Still and all I was sorely tempted. If I could have found someone with grand mas, QE2-loads of talent, I likely would have gone all Gustav Klimt on my ass (a canvas of some size). Yeah, yeah, I know -- it wouldn’t translate well to drawings on flesh. Luckily I’d enough sense to see that none of the ‘artists’ with the show had the talent to pull something like that off. The other thing I knew at that young age -- tastes change. I was laying odds on me actually growing, changing and maybe even *gasp* maturing.
No matter the case, Bob’s always been Pooh and I’ve always been Piglet. *Ahem* yes, we ARE strong with the sappiness, now that you mention it. Truth be told, we’re kinda giddy with it too
I guess this is just another way to celebrate, honor and note our 27 years together.
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