I am a bitch.

Today Trey's work had a party at the beach. I was awakened to, "Do you want to go to the beach w/my work?" and hastened into the shower to quickly shave my legs (and of course, missed 90% of the hair anyway!). We immediately hopped in the car and set off for a full, fun day at the beach.

We played for an hour or two when we first got there, and we all started to feel a little hungry. There was quite a spread of good eatin up at the picnic area that the restaurant had supplied. We stuffed our faces to the max, and started to head back out to the beach.

As I was walking in the general direction of the stairs to get there, I bumped into a fellow coworker of Trey's who had some cool tattoo's. He started telling me about a plan to get a smiley face with "Have a nice day" that he wanted to get tattooed on his butt. That way, when he gets up after his random trysts with hoo-ahs, they get to see that on his way out. He said his girlfriend vetoed the idea (good), and we started talking about his random girl-visits and if his g/f would go for that (ummm, no). I told him of my old idea to get Cole's head tattooed w/666 when he was born, and not tell him. That way, one day when he was older, he could cut his hair and see it and think he was the devil's son...That would be SO GREAT! Anyway, I digress...

So he goes to walk away, and I notice a tattoo that is a bunch of small words on his inner upper arm. I go to look at/read it, and he starts to tell me what it says (b/c, apparently, it's easier than standing there holding out your arm while people take time to read it). I ask, "Is that, like, old English or something?" He tells me no. "Really" I continue, "Then why is appeal spelled wrong (apeal)?" "No, it's got an 'a'," he responds. "I'm aware of that, but it should have two p's" "Really? I didn't know that," he quips.

I look again, and notice that the word 'assailant' is also misspelled. I again ask if he copied this quote from somewhere, perhaps a Bible, or some old school writing. "No, I made it up myself," he tells me. I, again, point out the word, and he reassures me that it's correct. "No, no, Dear. Assailant has an 'a' and not an 'e' before the 'nt'," I retort. "Ohhhhhhh...." His voice seems to be a little on the embarrassed/shot down side. I'm starting to feel like a bitch for even mentioning it. I mean, the poor guy has this tattooed on his arm. It's not like he can just take an eraser or white out and fix it. I tell him he might want to hit up his tattoo artist for a little touch-up.

I really do want to read the tattoo, so I hold his arm out so I can see it. He lets me know that I'm squeezing his wrist so hard it hurts. Yeah, I'm so used to holding the kids still while they wiggle and squirm that I've adopted a kung-fu grip at all times. Oops! I let off a little, and realize that it only gets worse, and for sure I will never see this tattoo through to the end. I ask him, "Hey, spell 'himself'." He does, correctly. I ask once more, "Are you SURE this isn't in some kind of fancy old language kind of thing?" Nope. Dismayed, I say, "Here, look at this: 'himeself'." He tells me he's never even noticed it before. It's glaring at me like it's written in all caps on a NY City billboard. How could he miss that? The tattoo was not new. I say, "Ummm, have you ever actually read this tattoo yourself?" He has, or so he says.

I tell him, first, that I'm a bitch, and I really shouldn't have even mentioned this. The damage has been done, though. He lets me know that no one has ever pointed any of this out before. You know why? Everyone else is nice. They also realize that there's not a whole lot he can do about it now, so why bring it up. Not me, though. I'm a bitch, and I take pride in cutting him down to size. He must know what an idiot he is.

Really, though, I didn't mean to be a bitch. I'm such a spelling nerd that I couldn't stop myself from saying it all. He told me that it was a free tattoo, and I told him that he got royally screwed. I have been working for years now on having better social graces, and overall, I think I'm doing quite well. However, today was a step back on the scale. I do feel bad, and Trey told me as he walked away that I shouldn't have told him. He was right, and I knew it. It was too late, though. I've been trying to think of something I could say to make him feel better, although I doubt he's losing sleep over it. I got nothin', though. Later, I saw him out on the beach, and I told him that I really, really like the tattoo he has on his tummy. Yes, after I bitchily pointed out his spelling flaws and showed him who was the more intelligent of the pair, I used the word 'tummy'.

Why didn't he just punch me so I'd feel better? I mean, though, don't you think the guy kinda deserved to know that his tattoo is all dicked up? Oh, I dunno. I do feel pretty bad about it, though. Most of all, I've learned a very important lesson from this all:

Don't get words tattooed on your body.

Have a great day. I'll talk to you later.