Area Code Tattoo

Occasionally, I’ll see a dude with a tattoo on his neck with three numbers. The first time I saw it was in San Antonio, it’s 210. That’s the telephone area code. I later saw it in California, and then in Tennessee. Then I heard it referenced in rap songs. I thought to myself, that seems a little stupid, to do that.  This was before cel phones were even popularized.

Currently, an area code  still represents an area, but it’s possible to get a phone nowdays, with an entirely different area code than where you live. I wonder how many gangsters are disappointed with their phone service company? They’re like, “Naw naw, Yo, I need the number thaz on my face, bitch”. And then Sprint, or Verizon, would reply, “Well maybe, you should have tattooed your Zip Code on your face instead. That shit ain’t never gonna’ change. There’s even an extra set of numbers that you can draw on your head that can provide an even  more detailed guide to specify your exact neighborhood!” And the gangster would reply, “Yeah, shit! I wish I would have thought of that shit”.

Loving Wife and Mother

When my wife wakes up my 9 year old son in the middle of our bed. She uses the voice of a tiny mouse fairy. “Hey lil’ guy…time to wake up….can I get a good morning hug?” He usually squirms around a bit and slowly opens his eyes and gives her a sleepy warm embrace.
If I’m still in bed after a few minutes, trying to sneak in a few more moments of rest, the clunking and clattering of the movement in the house seems to get louder and louder. Then, I hear this same woman, who just minutes ago, had the voice of an angel stirring my precious child to conscienceness, use the voice of a stern, annoyed, and disgruntled 1970’s newscaster, who just overdosed on coffee and cigarettes, to motivate me to start my day. “It’s almost Nine,…… are you working today?”
As if to suggest I only work when I damn well feel like it. As if I am a worthless and lazy bed squatter. Also as if she has never slept late, or woke up groggy and tired, in her entire life.

Where is my little mouse fairy, rubbing my back softly and caringly to wake me up? What happened to her to make her treat me like an unmotivated, smelly, grossly overweight, punk kid at summer camp with dishwashing  duty? Would waking me up with sarcasm and dissapointment inspire me to approach the day with a successful outlook?

So, I get up, get some coffee, watch the news, and wait for them to leave, …..so I can go back to bed.