A fantastic tattoo

A big pet and the holy trinity of cuteness

Never one for blowing my own trumpet[1], by chance I came across an article about large pets, mostly outsized dogs. One of them looked a bit like D the Dog (albeit a golden fleeced version, in typical jumping-up and being a nuisance pose). The caption (okay, obviously composed by his besotted owner) said that he embodied “the holy trinity of cuteness”, i.e.:

• Hugeness (me? that's a tick – in spades, a huge (oops, sorry) tick);

• Fluffiness (me? another tick – as long as hairiness = fluffiness, or is a next best thing);

• Stupidity (me? definite tick, see hugeness above).

A fantastic tattoo

MM has had a tattoo of Shadow, our beautiful old girl, a long haired GS who absolutely doted on MM in full-on dewy-eyed teenager mode (imagine a twelve year old girl in the 1970’s, imagine David Cassidy walking in the door, factor that up by the power of about a hundred – that should give an approximation of the excitement MM’s arrival home elicited from Shadow). She absolutely adored him. Now she’s there on his arm. Not just any GS, but recognisably her. Absolutely fantastic.

Now. I’m still more than a little hurt by BLISS’ attitude to my suggestion that, as the likeness is so good, she should have me tattooed on her.

Initially the response was: “where, there’s not enough of me?”.

Okay, not life-size, just my face. Not enough room for that, apparently (see the hugeness thing about ‘cuteness’ above).

Okay, what about the old, slim me, like when we got married and that?

“How would anyone know that was you?” Is there no end to the hurtfulness? Granted, I was about eight stones lighter, a bit pencil-necked with bodyweight loaded into the legs and arse areas. There must still be some recognisable link to the old me (even if I’m now cuter (see bullet points one (hugeness) and two (hairiness) above) than before – I’ve maintained unbroken stupidity).

Then she suggested I review the results returned by Googling ‘epic fail’. Well, that’s it. In full-on tit-for-tat style I will now only consider Indian Chiefs. In epic fail I guess someone somewhere has a tattoo of an Indian Chef:

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[1] The bus. It was my idea. You know who I’m talking to, BLISS.