Sometimes, I think I’m really funny. This is one of those times.
A little over a week ago, I went back up to Washington D.C. to finish some work I needed to do up there. It also happened to be my best friend’s birthday, and since I moved to South Carolina five years ago, I haven’t seen her on her birthday in a very long time. Since I needed to go up for work anyway, I figured it would be convenient to go during her birthday.
We took part in many excellent activities during the 4 days I was in town, but probably the most fun we had was on Friday night. Lauren and I both have a great love for gay bars – who doesn’t like to be told how fabulous you are by men who aren’t trying to sleep with you? – and one of her favorite haunts is Nellie’s, a gay sports bar in D.C. The fact that it’s a gay bar is relevant for no reason other than it just makes everything better. We headed to Nellie’s with some friends and arrived around 5:30 for happy hour.
Rachel, Lauren, and me before our sanity was lost. Can we take a moment to talk about my hair? Because seriously.
Well, happy hour quickly turned into happy 3.5 hours, and before we knew it, it was 9 pm. Lauren and I both have multiple tattoos, and for some reason, we started talking about getting tattoos. Now, Lauren has been my best friend for the past 8 years, and we have discussed this topic before. Every time I (hilariously, in my own mind) send her a link to some inane Buzzfeed post about the “Top 50 Matching BFF Tattoos,” she audibly groans across the internet and assures me that she will never get a matching tattoo with me because although she loves me, it’s tacky.
Guess who changed their mind around the time this picture was taken?
So somehow I got her to agree that this was a good idea. And by “I” I mean “the five beers she had already had.” Anyway, we started trying to figure out what we should get and where we should get it, and after a very long discussion that I don’t remember and you don’t care about, we decided to get Roman numerals on the side of our left wrists – 45 for her and 35 for me. Why? Well, 4535 College Avenue is the address of the sorority house where we met, and we always referred to the house as “45-35,” never “ADPi” or any variation thereof, for some reason. With the decision made, we looked up the nearest tattoo parlor – just 3 doors down! – and immediately abandoned our friends with promises to return and headed off. In our inebriated state, we determined that the Roman numerals for 45 were “IVV” and the numerals for 35 were “IIIV”.
Those are not the Roman numerals for either of those numbers.
New rule of thumb: If you’re too drunk to come up with the correct Roman numerals for any number under 100, you’re too drunk to drive. You’re welcome.
Mercifully, the very kind tattoo artist, for reasons I will never understand, took pity on us and told us she was pretty sure those numbers weren’t correct, so we then proceeded to consult a variety of internet sources to ensure that we got the right ones. For the record, it’s XLV for 45 and XXXV for 35. Wow, that was a close one. Geeeeeez, Danielle.
The actually tattoo process took all of about 3 minutes per person, not including all the set up and whatnot. It was completely painless and we were super impressed by how awesome they looked. The tattoo artist (Anna, from Australia, in case you were wondering) was extremely vigilant about making sure they were straight and didn’t look funny when we moved our arms. She was way more invested in the process than we were. Note to everyone: please never get a tattoo like this. It could really have gone so wrong so quickly.
Ok, but they really do look so cute, amiright?
So, where does the Trick or T-Rex part come in? Well, as it so happens, AJ is not such a fan of tattoos. He tolerates mine because I had almost all of them before I met him, but he’d be perfectly happy if I never got another one and/or subsequently had all mine removed. I knew he would be displeased that I got a new one, so I decided to do the obvious thing.
I decided not to tell him and see how long it took him to notice.
My reasoning was as follows: he can’t very well hate something that is so small as to be unnoticeable. Therefore, if it takes him awhile to notice, it’s not worth getting upset over.
I figured it would take him 3 days at most.
People, we are currently on DAY 10 with no end in sight.
I mean, REALLY?
Any time we have been somewhere with any of his friends, I’ve texted them ahead of time and told them the situation to make sure they don’t inadvertently say something. I’ve also taken their bets, which mostly figured it would take him about a week. As it turns out, he’s even less observant than we thought. Meanwhile, it’s not like I’ve been hiding the thing. I wore a strapless dress to a wedding this weekend and roll my sleeves up when I’m at home. I wave my arms in front of his face, and nothing.
Not like it’s inconspicuous…
So here are my best guesses as to what is happening:
- AJ really is the least observant person on the planet.
- He has noticed and is ignoring it because he doesn’t want to acknowledge my brazen behavior.
- He has noticed but can’t remember me telling me about it and doesn’t want me to know he doesn’t remember because he figures I’ll get mad.
Either way, this is hilarious.
So if you know AJ in real life, don’t tell him. He almost never reads my blog (I guess living with me is enough Danielle-time for one person) so I’m pretty sure he won’t find out by reading this. And even if he does, I’m interested to hear his explanation.
God, I live to torment this poor man. He is a saint for putting up with me.
LEAVE A COMMENT: Have you ever played a trick on your significant other?