As I'm sitting in my lovely little apartment, which I have recently been aborted from, a girl who is sitting on the couch across from me asks about my tattoo. Nothing new to me. I have been asked by all kinds of people in all kinds of situations. They range from cops who have pulled me over to janitor who pass by my hospital room. But I digress.
She asks, "What's that tattoo on your arm?"
My tattoo takes up 3/4 of my arm so it is damn near impossible to hide at times. I reply humbly to her, "Its an octopus".
Then she replies solely with an "Oh." The small hint of disapproval is not well hid from her face. She follows this up with the question I can not stand when it comes to asking a complete stranger about a tattoo, "Why did you get that?"
Never ask a person you do not know this question. Sure, most of the time the person will be nice and tell your overly-inquisitive ass just why he or she got the tattoo they did. Maybe there is some deep rooted family meaning, maybe it reminds the person of childhood. But let me tell you deep down what I think every time someone asks me.
"Who the fuck do you think you are? Do I owe you something to have to explain why I got the tattoo I got?"
If at one point during a friendship one divulges to the other the reason behind a tattoo then that is perfectly fine. But to have a customer in a store come up to you and bluntly say, "O.K. Let me see the tattoo. What's it mean?" is just too invasive. What if the tattoo has a meaning that is far too personal for me to want to tell a stranger? Then I am forced to make up a lie and make myself sound like a complete jackass for getting a tattoo that I seem to not care about.
My response to the overly-inquisitive girl was curtly and directly this, "Because I wanted to." A response that must have put her off, but yet could not have been more truthful.
Two minutes later she responds, "I have tattoos too."
And there it is, the weak retort in the effort to establish a connection.
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