"What?" I ask
"It's A vertical clitoral piercing." She calls me over to her monitor to view it- though I'd rather not. She's on one of those sites.
"Oh Jesus!" she says, moments later
I trek back across the room. This one has multiple piercings- and the whole genital area is enclosed within a tattoo of a carniverous looking flower.
"I'm not sure about that," she says.
Ailz does have a tattoo- a tiny butterfly on her left shoulder- so small you could mistake it for a birthmark. I don't and I never would. Two reasons.
(Please understand; I'm not trying to get at anyone. I often admire other people's tattoos. This is just about me.)
First I have a bit of a phobia about needles. That's self-explanatory, I think
The second goes deeper. I can't think of any image I wouldn't quickly get bored with. My enthusiasms are fleeting. I move on. This year it could well seem like a good idea to have a portrait of Balzac incised on my biceps, but next year it almost certainly won't- because I'll be reading someone else. I don't want to become a walking billboard for yesterday's alliegances.
And there's a third- now I think of it: tattoo art is just not good enough. It mostly comes out of a book- which means it's mass-produced- like wallpaper. Also it's mostly kitsch. If the Chapman brothers did tattoos I suppose I might be tempted- but then again, no, because (a) they'd charge too much and (b) it would still involve needles.
"Ooh Tone, come and see!"
Not more piercings, please.
Ah, no. This one is much more up my street. And it's in the Daily Telegraph (classy!) These ghosthunters were walking over the battlefield of Naesby and they heard clunking sounds and then one of them snapped a picture of a ghostly soldier walking out of the trees...