the tattoo in question

"Oh my God! Brandon! Come here!"

Brandon makes a beeline. He knows that when a phrase like that is bellowed in our house and the computer is open on my lap, it's gonna be worth a look at least 50% of the time and he's holding out for something he's super interested in, like a half-naked Facebook girl friend doing something dumb. Beeline. The other 50% of the time, it's a picture of a cute baby, which he'll politely entertain.

I had no time for acute perception on this day, though. What I was seeing shook me to my core.

A friend I've known since middle school had just published some pictures. A friend who's always been super conservative. A friend who I'd bet my life would never alter her body or never, ever ever get a visible tattoo. Her momma would kill her dead and that's if her daddy didn't get to her first.

And certainly not a ...boob tattoo (!), but that's what I was seeing.

A tattoo. On her boob.

By the time I had sorted through the implications, closed my mouth which had fallen agape and began squinting to make out the shape of her rebellion, I felt the presence of a hopeful husband behind me.

I silently pointed to the tattoo (Brandon knows her, too) but words failed me - y'all.. I swear, by this point, I was positive it was a singular paw print. my mind was swirling. . . . our mascot in high school was a tiger but who does that! had she had it since high school?!

A lot like this. Except just one. And on the wrong side of the boob.

I waited for my astonishment to be verbalized by Brandon - because we've been together for that long - but he remained silent, staring, and instead,

quickly licked his index finger (and I'm all.. what on Earth is going on here?! she's not that hot! whaaat?! licking finger??) and extended it to the screen (i repeat..whaaat?!),

where he rubbed the paw print. . .nay, Harper's purple popsicle stain paw print. . . off the screen.