How did I become one of those girls with a tattoo on their back?
I’m aware of how it happened because I was “there” (wasted), but where was my conscious when it should’ve been looking out for me? My conscious doesn’t even have my back. Literally.
Last year I got ‘xoxo’ tattooed on the back of my right shoulder and I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess at the time it seemed cute but now I hate that I have a tattoo on my back.
Tattoos on backs are for girls that took six years to graduate a four year college (check – but I also transfered twice and lost credits). Tattoos on backs are for girls that wore Bebe in middle school (check). Tattoos on backs are for girls who were fired from being a cashier at Stop N Shop at 16 for tripping on mushrooms (check). I may as well put my belly button ring back in, get foil highlights, move to Tallahassee and drive a Jetta because I have branded myself as one of those trashy back tattoo girls.
Or is my tattoo incredibly endearing and alluring?
Brice and Cheryl are married for ten years now and have been struggling in their relationship since their engagement.
They’re walking down the street behind me in NYC. Cheryl doesn’t know Brice is fucking his assistant, Tiffany, who’s 25 years his junior and also has a back tattoo, but of a fairy which he doesn’t like but that’s besides the point.
When Brice notices my tattoo, it instantly reminds him of Tiffany and he appreciates it, which unconsciously creates animosity between him and Cheryl who has lost her lust for life. My tattoo represents everything their marriage is missing.
Brice: See that Cheryl? Her tattoo says xoxo. She seems like a very nice girl.
Cheryl: I’m confused dear.
Brice: She wants everyone behind her to know she is leaving kisses and hugs everywhere. What a saint.
Cheryl: I wrote xoxo on an email to you and the kids last week
Brice: But it’s not on your fucking back. Jesus Christ.
They are both silent for the rest of the walk to their apartment, a $7.5 m condo in a stunning 14-story glass building with landscaped courtyard on Mercer street in Soho. The building is a collaboration between hotel visionary Andre Balazs and famed Pritzker Prize winning architect Jean Nouvel. It is an extraordinary testament to modern luxury, elegance, progressive architecture and ingenious engineering.
Brice confirms an order for a custom made shark Seabreacher thru email in the elevator.
Brice is “asleep” on the couch in the living room, but is actually waiting to watch Cinemax after midnight because he doesn’t want to order porn on their cable bill. His laptop is being fixed at the Apple store due to viruses from Internet surfing.
Cheryl is in the bedroom awake as well. She’s texting with a co-worker, who has had a crush on her for years and constantly makes remarks about how beautiful her legs look in Wolford stockings. She has never communicated with him outside of the office, but tonight she wanted to feel special and it wasn’t happening from Brice. She pops an Ambian and turns off the lights to go to bed, but not before ending her text with, “xoxo.”