Lunchtime Date
Tomorrow, I’ve got a date at lunchtime with my friend LeNelle. We’re headed to the tattoo place to get Kurt Vonnegut’s asshole on my arm.
I’ve always liked Vonnegut’s stuff. He’s the writer I’d aspire to be if I could stand being curmudgeonly all the time and smoking Pall Mall cigarettes (“a classy way to commit suicide”).
Two forces are at play here. First, of course, is my admiration of Vonnegut’s work. Second is my lack of real friends. I think having this identifier visible on my body would create a bond between me and anyone who recognized it. I thought mean thoughts about a larger lady in a Moroccan restaurant in Portland, OR until she shifted around on her pillow and exposed a small “So it goes.” on her leg. If she’d realized she’d forgotten her purse, I’d have paid for her dinner.
Tomorrow, a picture on my arm, but until then you’ll have to have the guts to type “Kurt Vonnegut’s asshole” into Google Image Search… or grab Breakfast of Champions from a shelf.
