So, you know how old I am.
“HOW OLD ARE YOU?”
I’m so old that I’ve had the song “We Got a Bill of Sale Right Here” stuck in my head for days and I can say that I haven’t seen Pete’s Dragon in TWENTY-FIVE YEARS.
I’m so old that when I was in elementary school, girls didn’t wear much pink. I don’t think I have one picture of my childhood where I’m wearing pink. I don’t think I even owned pink toys. Whereas when my nieces play in their playroom, you couldn’t find a pink elephant in that pile of pink.
So now that I’m in my mid-thirties, I am coveting this tattoo that reader @carolineanne got because, as she wrote to me, “the only thing I could guarantee I would still like in 5, 10, 20, 50 years is Pittsburgh.”
Isn’t that awesome? She lives in Minnesota for now and wrote, “Every time I see Pittsburgh, particularly on Penguins or Steelers game broadcasts, I lift my wrist up to my face and compare. So dorky, but it makes me grin, every time.”
She used the All-Star game logo as her template:
And then went to Cara at Black Cat Tattoos in Oakland on Craig Street.
Now I want a Pittsburgh tattoo on the inside of my wrist. SOMEBODY STOP ME.
I can actually hear my father rushing over here all, “Five daughters, forty years, and NOW one of them wants a tattoo?!”