I awoke suddenly from a deep sleep last night over my desk with cell phone in hand. Rather than holding it up to my ear for one of so many late night drowsy drunken dials or booty calls, the phone was down by my calf. It turns out that my 16-year-old tattoo has been making lots of extra phone calls and stirring up trouble while I slumber .
The tattoo, one of my favorite mistakes in life, is of AA Milne’s Tigger and Eeyore on a seesaw. Described to me by the “artist” who laid the ink to be “a non-cliché” ying and yang of the universe.
What had awoken me this night was the eternal struggle of Tiger and Eeyore locked in battle. In his carefree whimsy of discovery Tigger wanted to go out for the night, score a few tabs and find a few hunny’s. Eeyore, in his self-deprecation and anxiety, was attempting to talk him out of it for fear of getting lost, beaten by drug dealers or an STD from a hunny. He also cautioned that the few bee’s that have not been killed by cell phone towers now roamed streets freely and buzzed around looking to sting people in a death wish now that they are separated from their hive. Tigger then made a phone call to this Heffalump friend of his that he had met a few years ago. This is the when I woke up and the two played all innocent - “What phone call?” “What are you talking about?” “You’re just walking in your sleep again.”
It’s tough being the single parent of two teenage fictional characters on your leg. No wonder they sent Christopher Robin to a mental rehabilitation center.