“And then as I was sitting there, in the female-owned gender-inclusive omnisexual tattoo parlour, one of the other artists came in to brag to the guy doing my tattoo about what she was working on in the other room…”
”My client” she’d said, breathlessly “is ALSO having a bird, but get this – get this, it’s awesome – she’s having an OWL tattooed right on her PELVIC bone!” she’d continued, hands gesturing pointedly down toward the lower torso/groinal area.
“Awesome!” agreed the man, uninventively, with buzzing inky needle poised over my wrist, momentarily distracted. He liked owls. He’d told me.
“AND!… The TIPS of the WINGS, yeah?…” The artist continued, asking the question she was about to answer herself, as is the Californian way “Are on the very tips of her pelvic bone!”
She motioned meaningfully down toward her lower torso again.
”Aaaaaaaaawesome.” breathed my tattooing man, nodding slowly and in a way that represented being suitably awe-filled.
“And all I could think was: where does that put the actual owl? You know, the owl’s face?”
My friend nodded. “OW.” She said.
“I mean, I might be wrong about owl physiology, but I’m pretty sure I know where the pubic bone is, and I can’t see many ways that this wouldn’t end up with most of the owl’s head being portrayed on your ladybits? And I understand that might be a symbol of empowerment. But in what way, exactly?”
“Perhaps you wish to suggest it eats mice.” My friend suggested.
“Yes. Or makes screeching noises.”
“Or that it can rotate 360 degrees.”
“It also dictates a rather strict grooming policy. I mean, if you invited a new friend home, a very good friend, I mean, a special friend, you’d want to have a big momentous “Meet my OWL!”, rather than them be all “What is that, some kind of bearded mongoose?””
“Which would be less successful.”
I am glad to be back with my friends in Brighton.