Yesterday we were standing in the supermarket checkout line behind a beautiful woman with a moko (for my non-NZ friends, a moko is a traditional Maori facial tattoo). The questions came at me thick, fast and loud from both little girls about “the lady with drawings on her face”. I explained what a moko is and then apologized to the lady in case my inquisitive children had caused offense. She assured me no offense was taken.

Then I blushed a deeper red than the bottle of Pinot nestled in my shopping basket as Amy loudly announced, “MY MUM HAS A TATTOO ON HER BUM! Would you like to see it? Mum, show the lady your bum!”

When I got that tattoo at 20, something told me I’d probably regret it one day (by “something” I mean “my dad”).

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