One day last summer, one of our neighbor families was visiting with us in our backyard. Their two little girls were playing with our two boys, and we adults were standing around talking. The neighbor mom was wearing a tank top, and I noticed what I thought at the time was a bruise on her chest, mostly covered by the shirt. I didn’t think anything much about it other than, “Ouch, that must have hurt.”
Then the other day, the mom and her girls came over to drop something off on our porch. I saw them come up, so I went to the door and opened it. I surprised them — the mom didn’t want to disturb us at that time. The mom was again wearing a tank top, and while we talked for the couple minutes, she kept pulling on it to cover up what I saw was a tattoo.
The designed seemed to be a bird or two, of some kind, on her left chest, a couple inches below her collar bone. It’s about the size of a dollar bill — not small, but not extensive. She was obviously uncomfortable about it, trying to keep it covered as she was. But her attempts to keep it covered just drew my eyes to it. It made me more and more curious about what the tattoo was. It also made me curious how and when she got it.
If it was something old, surely she would be comfortable with it by now. If it was something new, why get it if she’s uncomfortable about it? Maybe she was worried about my reaction — she hadn’t expected me to see her right then. I never would have imagined her as the type to have a tattoo — at least not one that size. But now I want to know what it is and why and how she got it. But since it is obviously a source of embarrassment for her, I’ll never ask.