We’re in Arkansas: North Little Rock, Sherwood, somewhere, I don’t know. It is seriously confusing driving around here. We went to dinner at a restaurant on the same side of the river as our hotel but had to cross the river twice to get back.
The last forty-five minutes of our trip was through a torrential downpour, no lie. Ian drove. We were about half an hour early, so we looked around at the flea market next door, where Ian found a Kirby Puckett card.
Then we went in and waited on the comfy couches for Katie to finish up my drawing and get everything ready.
But oh, it was definitely hurting by the time she was finishing up. I don’t know if I can do that to myself again. Maybe on my legs…
We haven’t decided what to do with the rest of the weekend; the weather’s supposed to continue sucking until Sunday, when we head home, so the zoo is probably out. Maybe the natural history museum.
Aaand the cable just went out in our hotel room. Told you the weather’s bad.
A little over a year ago, I posted about my piercings. And I said this:
Which reminds me of all the tattooed people I know who are dying for me to get inked up. Why do you do that, guys? You’re like junkies who need someone to join in on their next fix.
I don’t have any tattoos. I don’t have plans for any. I do have a couple of drawings I’d likely have tattooed on me if I were to ever get one, but they’re just not my thing. I haven’t felt the call of the wild tattoo.
You know what’s funny about that? Tomorrow is our ninth anniversary, and we’re going to Arkansas for my fifth tattoo. And I’ve gotten four piercings since our eighth anniversary. So at this time tomorrow, I will have gotten more tattoos than piercings in the past year.