We're well into THWACK2, and everyone's going gangbusters. People have paid in their monies -- even me! Somehow I made it to the club with enough cash in my purse to get square with Eleanore. The money I took out of the ATM in Albuquerque during my little weekend away didn't entirely get spent at the New Mexico Immersed in Ink Tattoo and Ink festival. Can you believe it? (Dori and Sharon T, I'll straighten out the rest of the finances with you two tomorrow.)
So far so good. In fact, after eating at restaurants non-stop for five days and having some of the best Mexican I've enjoyed in ages, I weighed in even another pound lighter. Big surprise. Maybe all those refried beans and beers had some kind of catalytic effect? I'm so pleased, though, because I can finally fit into my trousers from two summers ago; last year I couldn't even pull them up one leg! Pretty embarrassing. As I said before, the $25 investment in THWACK has resulted in a 200-fold increase in my wardrobe, as I drag out things that haven't seen the light of day for ages. Of course, there are also two hundred folds in all those trousers because they haven't been ironed for two years either. *sigh* Looks like Mr D has some housework to do when he gets home!
One of the things I do miss about South Africa is Oscar. He was a master ironer. He ironed shirts, he ironed sheets, he ironed blouses with pleats and cargo pants with all their little ties and bunches. He even ironed my underwear, which was strange, because thongs generally don't get very wrinkly. I used to laugh about how unnecessary it is to iron sheets, but I stopped because Mr D always gets wistful and makes a little sad face, which makes me feel kind of guilty. And who wants a wife to feel bad and guilty? Of course he knows I have other good qualities, and would never dream of requiring me to do the ironing. I have blog posts to write! Midget wrestling expos to attend! Tennis matches to play!
And yes, indeed, my sister and I did attend the Tattoo Festival on Sunday. We saw the sign
and we had to go.
Tragically, we missed the midget wrestling, which was just about the whole reason for going, but I did get this great shirt and a new pair of knickers.
At the show I also got even more propositions than I usually do! I figured that I might be tapped as a tattoo model...
but, no. Apparently you need to have some tattoos to qualify. Feh! Details, details! No, all the handsome young tattoo artists were just interested in drumming up business. People were being tattooed at every booth, and the line of the day was, "Hey, ready to get inked?"
I think they sensed my vast expanses of virgin skin, and each one wanted to be the very first. Typical males, really.
I vacillated for a moment
but then opted to wait. Sitting on a fresh tattoo on that long plane ride home?
No thanks.
.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment