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| Photo by Tres Benet. |
I didn't have the heart to tell the man at Shooters Grill and Bar that the autopsy-style y-cut stitches on my chest were just makeup, not a real tattoo.
Wait for it.
Didn't. Have. The. Heart. Zing. Groan.
Someone punch me.
"It takes real kahunas to get a tattoo like that," he had said, and far be it from me not to accept an undeserved compliment.
It took real, albeit slightly smaller, kahooties to wear the temporary markings out to the Boulder bars, too. I could have washed off my zombie makeup, after my performance with the Dollhouse Pole Studio's dance fundraiser. But beyond Halloween, how often do you have an excuse to wear neck stitches and fake blood out in public?
That's a rhetorical question.
Read more at www.dailycamera.com.
Wait for it.
Didn't. Have. The. Heart. Zing. Groan.
Someone punch me.
"It takes real kahunas to get a tattoo like that," he had said, and far be it from me not to accept an undeserved compliment.
It took real, albeit slightly smaller, kahooties to wear the temporary markings out to the Boulder bars, too. I could have washed off my zombie makeup, after my performance with the Dollhouse Pole Studio's dance fundraiser. But beyond Halloween, how often do you have an excuse to wear neck stitches and fake blood out in public?
That's a rhetorical question.
Read more at www.dailycamera.com.
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