This morning a social media platform I increasingly think I should already have abandoned reminded me it's been four years since the great and good Kelly McGrath of Hillsborough gave me my most prominent #tattoos. 
A fascinating thing about these particular tattoos: Like the concepts of Liberty and Justice themselves, they are a sort of Rorschach Test. I've had both armed right wing extremists and lefty social justice activists see them and assume I'm on their team.
I once had an off-duty cop doing security at a grocery store walk over to me, point to the Statue of Liberty pin-up and smile.
"You should have had them write beneath it, 'America - Love It or Get The F*ck Out!'"
At a bank, a teller once pointed to Lady Liberty and said, "Wow...is that Beyonce?!"
Which my wife loved, because she was the first to spot that (very cool but coincidental) resemblance.
Which my wife loved, because she was the first to spot that (very cool but coincidental) resemblance.
At the NC Folk Festival a few years back, a stranger said she loved they're both wearing combat boots.
She asked to see my other pin-up, who wears *only* combat boots. But I'd have had to take my shirt off to show her.
"So take it off!" she said.
No thank you, ma'am.
She asked to see my other pin-up, who wears *only* combat boots. But I'd have had to take my shirt off to show her.
"So take it off!" she said.
No thank you, ma'am.
It's as true about tattoos as it is about motorcycles: Don't get them if you don't like talking to strangers.
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