On Women And Tattoos
As he strolls down the beach, Paul wonders when all the young women decided to get tattoos. Maybe it was during the awful year he spent inside his house, too depressed to get out of bed most days.
Maggie didn't have tattoos, he thinks. Of course, Maggie left him. She took the dog, the money, and a very large piece of his soul (although he doesn't think his soul was specifically listed in the divorce settlement).
There's a young woman with wings drawn across her back; another has roses crawling up the right side of her body; yet another has so much ink on her arms and shoulders Paul can't discern what any of it means.
Paul wonders what kind of tattoo he would get, if he were inclined to permanently render something on his flabby, wrinkled flesh. Probably something dark, violent, and sad. But what if he woke up one day and no longer saw the shadow that had fallen over his world? What if one day the sun came out and finally decided to stay a while?
Paul decides tattoos are probably not for him, and neither are the women who have them. They both involve commitments he isn't quite ready to make.