Taking my son to get a new piece of clothing at any store is a chore. He had gone with his father and came back with a pair of shorts that I think my reaction was something like, "Uh, no! No, no, no those look HORRIBLE! They are WAY too big." Okay, my reaction was a bit worse than that. I think I used a few words like 'you look like a Cholo'; which he didn't. I was over reacting. His response was not appropriate either, but mostly, my son was crest fallen that I didn't approve which made me feel bad and I apologized.
I ended up taking him to another store a bit later to try again.
I decided that this was a great opportunity to teach my son how to choose clothes that fit properly and still get the look he wanted.
How does this relate to the title? I'm about to tell you.
After trying on a few pair of pants, a few shirts, and a few pair of shorts, all the while trying to be patient with my son's martyrdom, an employee offered to help. To relieve some stress, I told her a little about my struggles (out of earshot of my son, of course), using humor to make it even more stress relieving. She definitely related to me. Nodding her head and smiling and then started to tell me a few of her own stories about how her grown children dress and what she wouldn't let them do when they lived at home. It went from talking about her son's baggy pants to his tattoos. She then revealed that he had gotten a mural tattooed on his body.
As an artist, who thinks in pictures and not someone who is familiar with the tattoo world, when someone says mural, I think of something that must cover his whole back. She went on to say that it was tattooed on his butt. I think, oh, so it isn't on his whole back, okay, but on his butt cheeks. What on earth did he have tattooed there that looks like a mural? Then she said that it was on his right side of his back and down over his right butt cheek. My vision of what it would look like got much smaller and less impressive in my mind, but much more reasonable, I guess.
By this time, my son was finished trying on clothes and wandering around the nearby clothing racks. I revealed to the employee that I was an artist and was having a hard time picturing what he would have gotten tattooed there, "What is the tattoo of?"
Her answer threw me into guffaws of laughter, "It's of Bob Ross."
"What?" I'll have to say that image was the furthest from my mind. Instantly, a picture came to my mind of him and his afro and his overly calm voice saying; which I said out loud, "We'll just paint a happy tree over here...on your butt."
But that's not all there is to the story. Apparently, this tattoo is very, very good and the artist did a beautiful job. He painted Bob, and his afro, looking at you with one of his finished paintings on an easel behind him, "He wanted something nobody else would have."
It was impossible not to laugh, "Well, he accomplished that one. That's probably not going to go over very well with any lady in his life."
She responded with, "Oh, but that's just it. He has gotten rave reviews. All his friends love it. He even made money by charging people to view it. It really is amazing."
I'd show you a picture of it, but I'd have to pay money to see it. So here's the next best thing.
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