freaky friday

I got up before everyone else this morning to make buttermilk pancakes (they were delicious). Dad was the first one to respond to the smell of melted butter, so he was lucky enough to eat the first few misshapen ones. As I continued ladling batter into the pan, dad ate quietly. Until he announced in the most matter of fact way that he was going to go get a tattoo. I stopped ladling to tell him he's an idiot, and of course he wasn't going to do such an impulsive thing. He said he was going to tattoo a very significant date onto his arm so that he'll never forget. He pointed at his inner right forearm. I went back to ladling and dad chuckled to himself.

Later, after doing the grocery shopping, we're sitting in the car when dad says he's detouring to the tattoo parlour. I tell him that if he's getting one, I'm getting one too. Dad considers my ultimatum, and comes to his senses. Our bodies are both still in pristine condition.

What surprised me most in this little short-lived fiasco is that my dad wants almost the exact same tattoo as me. The only difference is that, for me, no date of significance has come to mind yet. Maybe I'll think of something once I reach my own mid-life crisis. I can ask dad if he still wants his and we can both get some wrinkly dates inked in.