I was at the library the other day, and my daughter was playing at the Art Table with two other girls. One of the little girlsâ mother was near by and said âArenât you girls good little artists!âÂ
And the third girl perked up and said âMy dadâs an artist!âÂ
The woman smiled indulgently and says âOh really, what kind?âÂ
The little girl proudly told her âHeâs a tattoo artist.âÂ
And the woman. Oh man. Her face just twists, crumples into something nothing short of disdain, and she opens her mouth and says âThatâs notâŠâ
âAn easy job,â I cut in, looking the woman in the face because really? Youâre going to tell a child her dadâs not a real artist. âIn fact itâs very very hard, because that art is alive forever on a person, not like on paper. And thatâs scary! You have to be really good, to be a tattoo artist. Your dad must be really, really good.â
what kind of person could just try and crush a little kid like that? goddamn.