Julian has discovered my tattoos. I have three:
A fish on my foot.
A fish with wings on my belly.
A globe with a flower in it on my belly.
As I work in a fairly conservative office, I must ensure my tattoos are covered up at all times, which is normally fine, until the arrival of spring. I LOVE to wear skirts with bare legs, and lovely little shoes... Unfortunately, in order to comply with office policy, I am required to add a bandage to my wardrobe to cover my foot tattoo... completely destroying the "look" - and prompting the question of "What happened to your foot?" all day long.
I was 18 years old when I had this first tattoo done, and I recall my mom saying: "One day you will regret getting a tattoo on top of your foot. What if you work in an office, and have to cover it up?" My sassy 18-year-old reply: "Mom, I will NEVER work in an OFFICE! I'm going to be a famous actor, or an artist!." Ooops.
Last week I was getting ready for work (skirt - check, shoes - check, bandage - check) when Julian pointed at my foot and began to cry:
Me: "What is the matter?"
Julian: "Your painting is gone!"
Me: "My painting?"
Julian: "Why is your fishy painting gone?"
Then the next day he asked to see the fish with wings on my belly:
Julian: "Why did people paint a fish on your tummy?"
The beauty of being a child... everything is a masterpiece.