I humbly ask forgiveness in advance.

I’ve been thinking about something and that’s a sure-fire way to get myself in trouble.

But it’s also never stopped me and I have the scars to prove it.

You may write me your most vile comments and I will read them quietly as they travel en route to the trash can.

I am going to walk on hallowed ground and disparage the female fashion sense.

Especially from me, a person who wore checks, plaid and tie-dye t-shirts together in my younger years.

But I speak for the well-known and seldom heard silent majority when I say…

What’s with all the tats?!?

Good grief.

I’m an old guy and that makes me old-fashioned.

That’s not a bad thing.
Really.

It also gives me some perspective a few of you didn’t have when you had too many margaritas and went and got all marked up for some giggles.

A big three-acre tattoo may seem fun to a 17-year old until she finds she’ll need to wear long sleeves to a fancy restaurant.
If anyone takes her out.

I understand the need for self-expression and standing apart.

A small, tasteful bit of artwork in an appropriate place looks nice.

But inking up a large portion of your body is no longer standing apart.

Actually, the kid without a tat is being the different one.

I’ve seen a lot of ladies in their late teens and early twenties marked up like a circus sideshow.

Here’s the reality…

Some day in the not too distant future they’ll be old enough to start wondering, “What the hell did I do?”

A small delicate something-or-other in a not-in-your-face place is fine.
It’s always fun to play “Wanna find my butterfly?”

Six snakes and a turtle – or this thing – winding their way around you are too much.
And you know it – or you will someday.

Here’s where I’m going with this…

The horrible, tragic truth is it will limit what you become in life because people will judge you based on that decision you made one day.

And most will judge you not to be a good candidate for a senior position in their company with chains and ropes stamped around your neck.

Most large company’s have employee manuals with a dress code that clearly states tattoos are to be covered up.
Simply, it’s not professional.

It’s hard to hide that thing going from your feet to your ear.

It’s not important you don’t like that or you think it’s wrong.
That’s the way it is and you’ll have to deal with it.

Apparently there’s a lot of people waking up to some regret because tattoo removing clinics are springing up all over town.

I once thought of getting a small tattoo on my arm.

It’s a good thing I didn’t because it would have been the name of this lady I was dating at the time.
It ended badly and I ducked that bullet.

Yeah, love is blind and frequently stupid.

Tattoos are not bad.
The one with the fish above is really neat.

But going from something small to all of both arms, poor poetry on the chest with an eagle on the back, is.

They call that stuff trash stamps for a reason.

Let the comments fly.
I’m already grumpy.

I’m trying to nap.
That’s important to keep me spry and maintain my sanity.

In three hours there were eleven political phone calls to the house.

I could tell they were political because no one ever calls the house phone and none of them had a Caller ID that made any sense.

Usually there’s the ever popular “Unknown Caller”.

Hiding like that doesn’t work.
I don’t answer them.

Lots of people don’t answer them either and the dirty little secret is it really skews the results.

Occasionally I do pick up, just so I can have a conversation with the person at the other end about being sneaky.

Major political races usually hire a polling company.
They’re expensive.

So smaller races or cheap candidates use friends, family, people pulled off the street.

Having been in the political heap for a bunch of years, I may be considered an expert on these election things.

I can tell you most of those calls during dinner time come from a phone bank of volunteers.

“Volunteer” as used in the context of “being volunteered”.

Usually it’s a political appointee assigned to making poll calls.

“Hi, if the election were held today, would you vote for Alfred E. Neuman or Mufi Hannemann?”

“I’m sorry sir, ‘neither’ is not an answer on my list to check off.
Please pick one.”

In the back of your mind you know you better make those calls if you want to keep your appointee job in case the candidate wins.

I hated that and usually weaseled my way out of it.

Here’s how it works…
You’re handed a list of random phone numbers from a certain district.
That’s how they can call you even if your number is unlisted.

They’re just dialing random numbers.

You hope no one answers so you can get through your many page assigned list quickly and go back to something fun.

Sometimes they call from home.

Sometimes from their cell while at the beach having a brew.

Sometimes from a bank of phones at a friendly lawyer or travel agency office.

The typical shift is around four hours.

After about an hour of this you really wish the people wouldn’t chat with you and explain why they plan to vote a certain way.

You really, really don’t care.

Just answer yes or no or pick one from the list I’m going to read to you.

Sorry I’m interrupting your dinner.
I’m sitting here eating two-day old donuts and some moldy stuff left on the table.

I gotta pee, I wanna go home, and a have a ton of work waiting for me back at the office.

Getting out of there after your shift feels great.

Then you remember you have to be back the next night.

Welcome to grumpy.

I ask that you consider something.
There’s no need to make a decision at this moment.

Tonight would be fine.

I need someone to adopt me.
Soon.

Here’s what you get:

High mileage but sorta well maintained.

Some dents but most parts work.
Some well, some not so well.

I’m not bad-looking for an old coot.
See picture above.

Squint so it’s hazy, or drink a lot first.

I don’t take up much room and tend to stay in one place when I plop down.
I’m really low maintenance because I nap a lot.

You don’t have to take me out.

I’m a nice guy as the wife’s girlfriends can attest.

I have a great sense of humor although it runs to the sarcastic.
If you are that way too it would be a match made in heaven.

I’m not picky about food.
I have been trained to eat whatever the special is at Zippys or Loco Moco.

I even eat leftovers If I have no other choice.

It doesn’t bother me to wear the same t-shirt for a week so my laundry needs are almost non-existent.

An occasional hug or pat on the head is all I ask.
I change lightbulbs and other stuff.

I don’t hang out in bars, go out, drink too much or look at dirty pictures on the Internet.

Well, I fudged that last item a bit.

I’m a real catch.
The one that got away, so to speak.

Why this delightful end-of-the-week offer?
The wife is trying to get me to leave.

I know this because she has put stink bombs all over the house.

It’s like walking into a spice factory dialed up to a 100.

The smell can be described as…heavy.
You can cut it with a knife.

I have no idea what it’s supposed to smell like, so stink is descriptive enough for now.

Now, if she were to put these olfactory disasters in her bathroom that would be okay.

But she put one in my bathroom.
I need a gas mask to go in there.

The liquid in the bottle looks like it’s from a spittoon.

The bathroom is the only place a guy can get away for a few minutes.

It’s important to our sanity.

Right now I have to sneak up, hold my nose and crack the door open a couple of inches.

I reach around and flip the bathroom exhaust fan switch.

Then close the door and go away for about 10 minutes.

That’s usually okay except for those times one can’t wait.

Then there’s those antennas sticking up.
I suspect she’s listening in on my cell phone calls.

Now, I don’t mind little smell-good thingies around the house.

But it’s my bathroom and it should have things that smell good to a man.

Bacon, freshly cut grass, dirty sneakers, puppy dogs and pizza is a good start.

Motor oil would be a plus.

I spend time in there pondering stuff and I need to maintain a clear mind.

The whole thing is just too weird.

Someone take me.
Please.

Before I get more grumpy.