Yes, that is a robot on my leg.
No, it is not a Transformer.
No, you cannot touch it, you creeper, that’s my fuckin’ leg.
These are just some of the answers to the many questions I’m asked when people stop me to talk about my tattoos. Here’s the catch though. I don’t wanna talk about them.
I come across people every day who, in a kind gesture or an awkward one, want to talk to me about my tattoos. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture or their interest, I do. It’s nice of them to feign interest or to quickly replace their looks of confusion with smiles when they catch me looking at them.
The only thing is, every one of these conversations returns to the same question. “Well, why did you get that?”
Why does it matter to you? I have my reasons for sitting through the countless hours under the needle and frankly, I don’t feel the need to justify it to you.
So, keep staring if you’d like, but how about you think twice before asking a total stranger if you can touch his calf, eh?