Girl with the London Tube Map Tattoo: Prep for Radiation
The bright blue line inches up to my neck. Apparently every shirt I own that isn’t a turtle neck is a hussy-like neck-plunging affair as evidenced by the fact I tried on five shirts this morning before settling on one that still shows the blue line. I am hindered further in my wardrobe choice by the fact I have to wear a red bra that won’t submit to the marker ink as readily and therefore be ruined upon the completion of this macabre nuclear endeavor. I suppose my creeping marks and tats will make for an interesting conversation breaker peeking from my blouse. My husband, back from three weeks of flight school in Florida, and I went to Charlie Gitto’s on The Hill in St. Louis for dinner last night. The kind of established Italian joint where service is everything and the carb-loaded food phenomenal. The aged waiter who I kept making twitchy when I asked him non-sequitor off the menu questions asked us kids if we were celebrating anything special that night. I lit up immediately and gushed, “Why yes! We’re toasting to the beginning of radiaiton!” He was very perplexed as to why one would celebrate such a thing. He’s lucky I didn’t show him my London tube mapped hooters.