At Least It's Not Another Prison Tat

So I was in a bit of a rebellious mood today, which is probably the only reason I would have ever picked up my latest amusement. Enter...the tattoo marker.

I found it in the toy section of wal-mart, ages 5 and up, and since I fit that category, I was like, "Why not? I'm over 5." Plus it's faster than whipping up another batch of henna, which probably would have been my outlet had I not come across the tattoo marker first. (One way or another, I was determined to draw on myself).

From what I can tell, it's...a marker. Just like your run of the mill Crayola, only according to the packaging, it's completely non-toxic and washes off with baby oil (which is good since as soon as I drew on myself with something more permanent, the Pope or the Queen of England or some ultra-conservative business would want to see me immediately, and I'd be stuck wearing one glove ala Michael Jackson throughout the entire meeting. That's just my kind of luck).

(I "screw the establishment" attitude shocks you. What can I say? I'm a rebel).

Still, the tattoo marker managed to keep me occupied for, oh, roughly 10 minutes. No doubt when my mother sees it this weekend, she will roll her eyes and sigh. Almost 30 and I still come home with marker all over me. I figured Tony would do the same thing, but when he saw it, all he said was "Well, at least you didn't do another one of those armband prison tats you're so fond of". (Point of clarification: It isn't a prison tat if it consists of intertwining flowers, even if it is around your bicep. And to my knowledge, they weren't even gang flowers either).

In short, while feeling rebellious, I drew flowers on myself with a washable marker targeted to little kids. Mothers, lock up your children.