This is the Orclette two years ago. She's still that size in my head, and I suspect I will always, at least in some way, picture her as my little baby. Yes, this is relevant to the topic.
So this afternoon I was looking for some way to entertain the Orclette and Miniorc. It had been a loooong day; first day of school for Damm and an emotional one for me as everyone started school and I didn't. I got out the removable "Cars 2" tattoos and put one on the Miniorc's hand. He flipped out, crying and asking me to take it off. I'm guessing he's observed mine don't come off and he thought I'd put one like mine on him. I removed his "tattoo", told him I wouldn't do such a terrible thing to him again, and we were all good.
The Orclette was cool as a cucumber, picking out the ones she wanted and sitting completely still as we waited the thirty seconds necessary for the design to transfer. For some reason I thought this would be a good moment to mention that real tattoos don't come off as easily as these did and that she was going to wait until she was eighteen and probably shouldn't get one anyway and that if she did it should be somewhere she could easily cover it up and she better pay cash for it (imagine I said all that without pausing and with increasing intensity). She looked at me very seriously after my mini-lecture and said "well, I'll probably get one when I'm eighteen".
Should never have brought it up. At least she told me she planned to disregard my advice, unlike myself who disregarded my mother's advice and let her discover it later (that was a really bad moment, when she spotted my first tattoo). And there's still time to persuade her not to get it smack-dab in the middle of her chest area. I now have sympathy for my mother, who probably carries around a toddler-sized image of me in her head. I can't imagine that little cutie in the picture letting heavily tattooed men tattoo her to the sound of really bad rock music. My, how times have changed.
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