Tat-Two Tales

For most of my life, I’ve struggled with my weight and with body image issues. While I’m finally on my way to a healthier me today, both physically and mentally, this occurred a few years ago. This is important to know in terms of mindset. The key point of this story is that I just got a large tattoo on my upper arm – I find tattoos to be immensely positive in terms of loving my body. 

This first story occurs at a brewery that is holding an event in the month of June. To one side is a sweet little art market. I’m wandering the stalls and come up to one manned by an elderly woman. My tattoo is on full display.

We talk about the pieces for a bit and how her granddaughter roped her into helping out, and then she points at my arm.

Let’s call her Grumpy Old Lady:

GOL: “Why would you do that to yourself? My granddaughter does it, too. Why would you ruin your beautiful skin?”

Me: *Caught off guard.* “Oh, uh… well, it makes me happy.”

She puffs up. 

GOL: “Back in my day, we kept our bodies pure.”

Against my better judgment, I laugh. I have never heard that line outside someone painting a caricature of the typical “boomer”. This obviously does not do wonders for the conversation – she is edging towards furiously annoyed, expression-wise – but I try to smooth things over.

Me: “Well, that made you happy. This makes me happy.”

GOL: “Yes, well, what will a future husband think of it?”

At this, I drop all pretences of being nice. 

Me: “Lady, you’re at a Pride event. What makes you think I’m looking for a husband?”

I’m sure this would have gone downhill further, but at that moment, the granddaughter in question returns, and all signs of vitriol are gone from GOL. I make some polite conversation with the granddaughter and then escape.

Now, for the positive side of this story: that same weekend, I attended church with my parents (they wanted me to meet some of their community). I’m dressed in a knee-length, short-sleeved dress with a sweater over it, but by the end of mass, I’m sweating buckets because they don’t have air conditioning, so I take my sweater off. We’re mingling with other parishioners when a tiny octogenarian marches up to me, grabs my arm, and pushes up my sleeve to see the whole of my tattoo.

Let’s call her Nina. Think of her as your typical black southern grandma, drawl and all. 

At first, I think this is round two of judgment, but no.

Nina: *Now pulling me towards her family.* “Oh, isn’t this just lovely? Look at this beautiful art!”

Woman: *Who I later learned was her sister.* “Nina! Stop dragging that poor girl around.”

Nina: “But isn’t it gorgeous?” *She turns to me, keeping a grip on my arm and rubbing my tattoo lovingly.* “I wish I had been brave enough to do this myself! I’m too old now, but it’s just stunning!”

I’m laughing at this point and thank her. We have a conversation about how you’re never too old while she tells me about all the tattoos she’s ever dreamed of getting. Just goes to show!