Ross has been very focused on his work these past two evenings, making it somewhat difficult for me to successfully distract him with funny noises and exclaimings over things I have found on the Internet or inside the pages of the amazing amazing amazing cookbook-slash-travelogue Jenn just sent me for my birthday. Tonight he is still working hard in his study, somehow productive even after having agreed to join me for a very strong, fresh-as-a-breeze-tasting glass of after-dinner gin and ginger ale with a twist of lime. It is all rather disheartening, since I am still entirely caught in the weekend and am mostly interested in investigating leftover cake options and watching another episode of the first season of the West Wing (I am finally trying it, Erica!).
So anyway, while Ross is working I thought I’d tell you that I went and got myself his official 2009 birthday present to me this afternoon.
Question: Why did I have to go and get my official 2009 birthday present on my own?
Answer: Because it was a tattoo! Or rather, two tattoos. They are on my very-buff-from-the-gym shoulders and they are rather marvelous, I think. Ross helped me design them (although the tattoo guy did the final sketch, and a very fine job he did, too). I’m keeping them under wraps until they heal properly, so be patient before you ask for photographic evidence.
Addendum: Hello, parents. Dear, sweet parents. Hey, remember when I got my first tattoo when I was 18 years old and one of you was very concerned and upset because you thought it was an early sign that I was going to go down a road signposted by petty crime and motorcycles and copious amounts of illegal substances? Please do not worry. I am far beyond those youthful pursuits. I just wanted to show off my shoulders, because I am not entirely beyond vanity.
Um, also? This might be a good time to confess that my first tattoo was not my last tattoo (before these). Ask Rani. She can explain.
Internet, I’m going to go now. If you don’t hear from me for a couple of days, I’ll just be over here comforting my poor mother (to whom I make the following sincere promise: I will wear long-sleeved shirts when making any future Singapore-based appearances at which you do not wish me to be viewed as a delinquent).
P.S. They really are quite marvelous. And just think: Asher is going to be really, really impressed with me.