Sunday morning my Honey and I were driving around town running some errands when I thought I'd discuss an idea that's been bouncing around in my head.
ME: Babe... how would you feel if I got another tattoo? (I have one that I got on my 30th birthday)
THE HONEY: Where? (He has none)
ME: I don't know, probably add to the one I have. (ME THINKING: So it's no longer referred to as a tramp stamp)
THE HONEY: Are you going to tattoo my name?
ME: My second husband would probably not like it. (Grin)
THE HONEY: I expect you to be a grieving widow and never marry again; maybe join a convent.
ME: The only way I'd join a convent is if it was the name of a rock band.
THE HONEY: You'll wear black for the rest of your life?
ME: Black INK!
THE HONEY: I thought you were gonna throw yourself on my funeral pyre!
ME: (Eyes rolling) NOPE! I've told you THAT AIN'T HAPPENING!
