“A sailor’s not a sailor till a sailors been tattooed” (name that movie)

A week(ish) ago our back yard was found to be teeming with lady bugs. The 2-6 year old set went out to pass the time while I cooked diner and discovered bug after bug. At one point they found a little bitty one riding on a bigger bug’s back. Oh, what joyful reports we heard of the mama and baby lady bugs. Does anybody know, do lady bugs actually care for their young?

Moo-face has been talking about lady bugs ever since. At least once a day she brings it up, “be-bug a arm, be-bug a arm, Mom,” she says and will continue to say until I take notice and respond affirming that she did indeed have a lady bug on her arm.
The incident of the bold and adventurous bug who ventured to explore the interior of Enzo’s pant leg is all but forgotten, while the memory of Moo’s arm encounter lives on. I never would have guessed.
She’s still so enraptured with the memory of six tiny tickling feet crawling up her forearm I’ve come to expect that when she’s grown, if she takes any interest in ink, she’ll come home one day with a lady bug tattooed mid-way between elbow and wrist.
What’s that book with the kid who dreams of getting a potato on his ankle when he grows up? Anybody know what I’m talking about?
I once recommended to my brother that he should get a sofa on his forehead…he did not take my advice.
I love to think of random and ridiculous subject matter for tats, I don’t really think the lady bug fits into the random and ridiculous category. In fact if the memory of the bug stuck with her long enough and had that kind of influence, I think it would be a more solid reason to go under the needle than some I’ve heard.

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