One Tuesday night after work I made my way to a coffee shop to meet Jennifer.
I detest coffee dates with every fiber of my being, but Jennifer said she much preferred it to a bar.
Jennifer was an executive assistant with strawberry blonde hair and spectacular taste in music. After discovering our mutual obsession with the classics like Led Zeppelin and Jimmy Hendrix I was looking forward to making a date…too bad it had to be for coffee.
We settled into a sofa in the corner of a hipster-esque grind house on the Lower East Side to get more acquainted.
Jennifer and I compared notes on the various concerts we had attended over the last few years and ones that we were dying to see in the future.
Jennifer pushed the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows exposing the bottom of what appeared to be a tattoo.
“What’s that on your arm?” I inquired.
“Oh gosh,” she said as she sheepishly pulled her sleeve down to conceal the ink imbedded in her forearm. “It’s a long story. But as soon as I save up enough money it’s getting removed.”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad. Let’s see it,” I insisted.
Once again Jennifer pulled up her sleeve and revealed a rather large tattoo that read, ‘Joseph My Everything,’ written in the shape of a heart accompanied by what looked to be a lotus flower.
“It was a big mistake. My ex and I broke up, and I really thought he was the one so I did it thinking it would bring us closer together if he saw how much I was committed to making it work,” she admitted.
Bitch. Be. Crazy.