A woman at the gym grimaced at me today. “Are those decals?”
“Hmm?” I looked down at my shoes, confused. I started to say “They are New Balance.”
“All over you,” she said. “Are they decals?”
And for the first time in recent memory I was silent. I just stared at her.
“They are tattoos,” I eventually said. I said the word very slowly. Tat-toos.
She stared back at me. “Real tattoos? I guess the kids like them.”
And she walked away.
The kids? Did she mean me, as in “You crazy kids and your tattoos!” Was she going to shake her cane at me next? Or was she talking about my kids? I was walking hand in hand with the girls on my way out of the gym when she offered up her unsolicited opinion.
I see her pretty often at the gym. I suppose it is a good thing I just stared in silence. None of the clever replies that eventually occurred to me were particularly kind.
But I can promise you this. I will be putting my yoga mat right next to hers tomorrow morning. And I will be wearing the shortest damn shorts I own. She thinks I have a lot of tattoos now? Lady ain’t seen nothing yet.