Tatt-oops

October is a good month for us.  We conceived little Miss Perfect last October.  Kurt and I met on the rooftop of  The Gin Mill, a bar here in Charlotte, 4 years ago this month.   The first time I saw Kurt he was wearing a tight black vintage looking t-shirt, tight rockstar style jeans and black boots. He had longish thick hair and tattoos almost hiding under his shirtsleeves.  In a sea of boring bankers in the Charlotte "uniform" of blue button-down untucked with khaki pants or cargo shorts and flip-flops, he stood out.  I thought to myself, now there is an interesting guy - clearly not boring banker material.  As fate would have it, I caught his eye too, and we started talking.  Within minutes I found out that he was indeed a banker, but not the boring variety at least.  He also was in a band, the lead singer as his buddy Chris pointed out several times...what a good wingman he is.  In addition to both working at THE bank (as opposed to the OTHER bank - you Charlotte bankers know what I mean,) we found out we both went to UNCG at overlapping times.  We both had dogs.  We both had been married before.  We hit it off immediately.  I will not say that I took him home with me that night because my Mom reads this blog and that would clearly be an unsafe move for a single gal, but the bank does do background checks so I knew he at least wasn't a convicted felon.  Anyway, we've been together ever since.

Flashforward 4 years...the band is no longer together. We haven't seen the inside of a bar in ages, and the rockstar jeans (both his and mine) are retired.  All that remains of the glory days for poor Kurt are the tattoos. Oh dear, the tattoos.  Well, one is pretty G-rated.  An asian style tiger.  Colorful.  I'm sure Sarah Beth will like it.  But the other one...well...it's inspired by japanese anime and it's a lovely young lady scantily clad, clutching an AK-47 or some kind of weapon.  Uh-oh.  We have a problem.  I think Kurt first realized that this tattoo and children wouldn't work when we visited my niece and nephew in New Orleans a few years ago for Thanksgiving.  They were 10 and 8 at the time and caught a glimpse of his tattoo.  "What's that on your arm?"  "It's um, a dolphin..." -Kurt answered.  "A dolphin?  Doesn't look like a dolphin" -they said suspiciously, followed by a slight wrestling match to reveal the full tattoo at which point my nephew declared. "That's NOT a dolphin!  That's a butt!  You've got a butt on your arm!"  Which turned into the talk of the weekend. "Dad, did you know Kurt's got a butt on his arm?"  "Grandma, Kurt's got a BUTT on his ARM!"  Oh lordy they would not let it go.  So sadly, Kurt will soon have to go back under the needle to get a longer skirt tattooed on the lady that adorns his arm.  One more sacrifice for our beautiful daughter's sake, but clearly necessary. There's something a little unsavory about having our precious angel baby draped over his arm sucking away on a tattoo of the butt of some chick holding an automatic weapon.  Kids, let that be a lesson to you when you pick out your tattoos!