After I drop Little K off at preschool, I often head to a local coffee shop for a Sugar-Free Skinny Vanilla Iced Latte with 2 extra shots of Espresso. I know... I annoy myself.
Generally I have a bit of time to chat up the baristas while they are creating my novel of a drink. This is a conversation that took place last week with the coffee girl who I’ve been chatting with for years, after I had noticed a tattoo on the inside of her wrist.
Me: Is that a white ink tattoo?
B (for Barista, because I don’t know her name): It is!
Me: Is it new? I always see them on Pinterest but have never seen one in person.
B: No, I got it a long time ago when no one would do them. I had to go to a guy’s house to get it done because I couldn’t find anyone who did white ink.
Me: Oh so you totally had it before it was cool.
B: Oh yeah. But before anyone had seen them, people used to ask me if I had cut myself. I don’t think I could cut in a pattern like that.
Me: You’re a cutter. But a fancy cutter.
B: Exactly. A fancy cutter.
Me: Anyway, I like your tattoo. I’ve been admiring those for a while. I have a tattoo on my low back. Yes, it’s a “tramp stamp”. But it’s a cross. So I guess it’s okay, since I’m tramping for Christ.
B: Okay well here’s your coffee.
I think I might have muttered something about not really being a tramp, but by that point the damage was done.
Thanks for letting me be weird. And thanks for keeping me In Good Company.