Woe to the idiot – Me . . .

Jun

29

2023

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Jun

29

2023

I had my shoes and socks off the other day because my feet were hurting from walking so much. I was looking at the tattoo on the top of my foot and reminiscing as to how it got there. I was about twenty years old in New Orleans and walking through the French Quarter with my girlfriend one night. We were both drunk as skunks and happened to pass a tattoo shop. I told her that I was going in there and get a tattoo and we went into the shop. I wanted to get a cherry tattooed on my rear end, but the “artist” told me that it would cost fifteen dollars because he would have to close the shop in order to tattoo my rear end. Hmmm I asked my girlfriend what her favorite flower was, and she told me a daisy. I asked if I could get a daisy tattooed on the top of my foot for five dollars because that was all I had.

He tried to convince me to get it on my arm or somewhere other than my foot, but I insisted on having it done on the top of my foot. He finally shook his head in a disgusted manner and reluctantly agreed; (I guess he needed the five bucks). I was drunkenly grinning like a possum as I removed my shoe and sock. I was not grinning long! When those electric needles started penetrating the top of my foot, indescribable pain shot through my system. I did not want to look bad in front of my girl, and I was trying to keep from crying out from the pain and doing my utmost to maintain my “dignity” in front of them both. My mouth was dry, and I could taste a powdery substance and suddenly realized that I had just ground about a quarter of an inch off my teeth while grimacing in agony. My eyes were bulging and very watery; (not that I would cry). I tried to smile, but it was difficult because I held my lips tightly together in order to avoid screaming. Finally, mercifully, it was over; thank God it was not a big tattoo.

It gets worse. I was in the military at the time and had to march in heavy combat boots each day. My foot was swollen so big the next day I could barely get my boot on. (My head was swollen so big from my hangover that I could barely get my hat on.) Imagine how it felt when I marched in the hot sun for a couple of hours with a bad hangover, headache, cotton mouth, and a foot that felt like it was going to explode. A big scab formed on it, and it remained swollen for over a week and it was swollen so bad that I thought I would have to cut my boots off.

That tattoo has caused me nothing but angst ever since I got it. When I got my tattoo they were not as commonplace as they are today. In those days, a few Marines had the Semper Fi tattoos on their muscled up and bulging arms, and some Merchant Marines had battleships on their chests, and ex- inmates had them, but no one had a daisy foot but me. Today people have tattoos of virtually everything, everywhere, and my tattoo in society today might even be considered kind of cool. Back then it was not so cool.

Shortly after getting the tattoo, I got heavily involved with Karate. Now just being around all those tough guys meant that I needed to appear tough myself. We would swagger around throwing imaginary kicks and punches in the air in our most intimidating manner. When squaring off with my opponent prior to the fight and the referee was explaining the rules, in order to gain maximum psychological advantage prior to a fight, I exercised my “psycho stare” whereby I would coldly stare at my opponent looking at him as if I was deranged and with a look that could only mean that shortly I was going to rip his throat out with my bare hands. Imagine staring a competitor down with my meanest psycho stare and appearing crazy mean only to have him glance down and see a daisy tattooed on my foot and watch him start laughing out loud and pointing at it and then the ref would laugh too! It was embarrassing to no end. Eventually I started putting a bandage over it even in practice to avoid the humiliation.

The same thing happened around the pool or anywhere I might walk barefoot. I have heard the snickers and outright laughs and it makes me want to tear off their limbs one at a time. It is downright humiliating and impossible to appear macho. I intend to put in my will that I want to be cremated with my socks on because I do not want the undertaker laughing at my foot. I considered having this tattoo removed but I have heard that it hurts just as bad if not worse than getting the blamed thing put on in the first place. I was drunk when I got it put on and it was excruciating; I can only imagine how much that process would hurt sober. Sigh . . .

The consequences of stupid mistakes just seem to last forever do they not? Every day when I put my shoes and socks on I am reminded of this idiotic decision. I think God has had a laugh or two over it and I suppose that you have as well. Some of my mistakes were not so funny. I have huge scars on my legs, neck and chest from a car crash where I was dead drunk. I have scars on my hands and head from fights and other stupid behavior. I have arthritis from broken bones resulting from my idiocy. They all remind me that but for the grace of God I would be dead, in prison, or muttering to myself in a psych ward somewhere.

Thank God for saving me from myself and leaving some not so subtle reminders of where exactly my folly led me and the not so fond reminders of what I was doing when I got all those injuries.

Proverbs 23:29
Who has woe?
Who has sorrow?
Who has contentions?
Who has complaints?
Who has wounds without cause?
Who has redness of eyes?
Those who linger long at the wine

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