(~3 minutes to read)
A few weeks ago, you may have read that the day we’re all barcoded (or QR coded) would be the day it wouldn’t matter what you call your offspring. (The context was the abominable alphabet spaghetti of spellings that parents use when naming their progeny.)
Tattoo Parlours worldwide must be looking forward to that day—business will boom! Although, since they’d be working for the government, and therefore be civil servants, the artists might not like the dress code they’d undoubtedly have imposed on them. And since there’s not a lot of scope for creativity in barcodes, these free spirits might seek their jollies elsewhere.
Tattoos have always been used to show membership or allegiance. For example, mercenaries in the Roman army were tattooed to discourage desertion. Gang membership is also frequently affirmed with tattoos.
In civilian life, tattoos used to be subtle—a symbol of love or affinity perhaps—but nowadays, the meaning is frequently more explicit.
Recently, a lady of a certain age (she’s a great-grandmother) decided to use body adornment to inform people that if the question ever arose of her being helped to die or not, she favours the latter. She’s had the words “Don’t euthanize me.” tattooed on her upper arm. The allegiance seems clear enough—she’s a member of the “I don’t wanna be put down” club.
Just as long as she doesn’t lose the arm in an accident.
Back in the 1980s, there was a story doing the rounds about a girl who’d had her pubic hair dyed green and a message tattooed above that read, “Keep off the grass”. She was admitted to hospital with acute appendicitis and operated on accordingly. When she regained consciousness she discovered that the surgeon had left a note on her dressing saying, “Sorry, had to mow the lawn.”
At the time, I thought the story was funny as well as true, but during research for this article, I discovered no hard supporting evidence. It might be funny and true, but I suspect it’s just funny.
However, if you were that girl back in the 1980s, please let me know (and perhaps send modestly-framed pictures as proof; I don’t want to be accused of soliciting rude pictures!)
Along the same lines, there was another story—surely apocryphal—of a young uhm… gentleman who had the name of his home town tattooed on his uhm… manhood. When it was “like that”, it read “Wow”. When it was “like T-H-A-T”, it read “Walthamstow”.
I’ve heard the same story in Canada, with “Swan” and “Saskatchewan” replacing “wow” etc.
What other messages could a person have tattooed? “This side up” as an instruction to funeral home workers? How about a message somewhere in the “underwear area” saying, “If you’re reading this, either we must be really good friends, or you weren’t invited.” Or a message in the same area that would surely kill an amorous moment: “Smile for the CCTV please”.
Today, many people treat their bodies like some treat walls under bridges or the sides of railcars—as a painter’s canvas. Every inch is covered. There are a significant number of people who find tattoos –even facial tattoos—heck, even genital tattoos!—attractive. And the bottom line (not a line tattooed on one’s buttocks, merely an idiom) is that your body is your own (unless you were the creation of one Dr. Frankenstein) and you should be able to adorn it in any way you like.
But please count me out. I’ve got enough lines on my face (and elsewhere) without the need for inked-in ones; and mine are etched in.
Although… perhaps I should get my home town—Okotoks—tattooed. That would be Ok, wouldn’t it?