The Tattooed and the Clueless

This is how to show off a tattoo . . . not that I really wanted to see it.

The Mister and I attended the wedding of a friend’s daughter last weekend in Houston. When I wasn’t busy being simultaneously intrigued and repulsed by Tattoo Girl (sorry, tattoo fans, but when I see big ones like this, I can’t help but wonder how saggy they’re going to look in 20 years or so; that bird will be ready for the fryer!), I had to chuckle about how clueless we are.

First of all, I knew we would be among the worst-dressed guests just by how schlubby we are naturally. During the ceremony, the preacher said, “Some of you put on better outfits than others.”

Hey, I resemble that remark!

Second, as we climbed into a photo booth that was near our table in the reception hall, our friend Glenda insisted that we use some of the props put out for the booth-goers to wear. We very reluctantly agreed . . . but not without problems, of course.

Where’s that darn camera?

Obviously, I touched the screen before we both were ready to pose. I needed to be able to google “Where’s the camera on a photo booth?”

That’s better!

I definitely got the better end of this photo deal. At least we didn’t have to get matching tattoos!


4 responses to “The Tattooed and the Clueless

  1. Sherry Steiner

    That must have been a PROTESTANT wedding!

  2. Total agreement about tattoos–they are everywhere out here among the Sunny generation. Yuck! At least the one yu feature here is somewhat ‘attractive’.
    I love the picture of you and hubby in the photo booths. It is too cute!!

  3. Billy Gilbert

    Rick was going for the Elton John look!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s