When I was a teenager “nice girls” did not get pierced ears, tattoos or wear ankle bracelets. Naturally, as soon as I could, (nice girls be damned) I got my ears pierced, purchased an ankle bracelet and a decadent toe ring.
I thought a tasteful tattoo might be fun but never followed through. Later, when I added getting a tattoo to my bucket list spousal objections prevailed, thus I remain ink free. I must say I am glad I took my spouse’s admonitions about tattoos to heart.
I recently discovered as time marches on, so does the tattoo.
Tattoos notwithstanding, it takes guts for a mature woman to appear in a public pool. The preparation alone is exhausting and locating appropriate swimwear is demoralizing. Attire euphemistically described as “swim dresses” is dreary and tankini’s do not become the Medicare set.
Every woman knows her legs are the last to go, so if the tat is on your calf, it most likely will remain there. A tat etched on any other body part will slide south faster than Mitt Romney can scream biscuits and grits.
I have to say I admire the courageous, mature woman who entered our health club pool wearing a tankini and sporting tattoos. The tattoo that originally resided on her thigh had morphed down to her knee. It may have started life as a rose, but now resembled a dead calla lily. Artwork that at one time looked probably looked wonderful on her bicep slid down a batwing and peeped beneath folds of cellulite. One can only wonder what the original depiction featured.
Another brave soul had daisies inked across an area originally designated as shoulder blades. Alas, said daisies had become marching ants hiking along her back fat.
I have enough body issues as it is and it takes a good deal of white wine for me to appear in swim attire. Bless those brave, mature women who come to the pool in their tankini’s and tattoos. As for me, I’m looking for a new adventure to add to my bucket list.