The old man and the old woman are getting on a bit so have not succumbed to the fashion for tattoos – thank goodness. It would take a drawing the size of Texas to make any impression on their expanse of skin. If they wanted to get the Complete Works of Shakespeare tattooed on their behinds, there’d be plenty of room.
Personally, I don’t pay much attention. Who needs a tattoo when you are covered in spectacular ginger fur?
But the old man and the old woman have many young relatives who visit the house and lots of them have a tattoo somewhere. The old man and the old woman admire them politely but I can tell they don’t really approve.
Today, though, the old man's niece Clementine came a-calling. She rolled up her sleeve and displayed a tattoo of a ginger cat. She has taste, that girl.
‘It’s Toffee!’ said the old woman.
Clementine frowned. ‘Well, no. It’s supposed to be Garfield.’
Scrub that comment about her having taste.
The girl’s a nincompoop.
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