I have no idea who this chick is, but she has the greatest tattoo I have ever seen. Seriously: Go look at it.
Also, I am fascinated with her hair. It might just be the angle from which the photo was taken, but she appears to be rockin’ both the Bettie Page bangs and a pretty nice set of dreads-in-progress. If that is the case, she is my new hero, because that is the most creative hairstyle I have ever seen, and she is totally pulling it off.
Her picture makes me wish two things:
1. That I had dark hair and a more exotic appearance so I could get away with Bettie Page bangs and white-girl dreads. (Don’t think I haven’t considered dreadlocks many, many times in the past six months. The more obnoxiously uncooperative my hair becomes under humid conditions, the more tempted I am to stop fighting my split ends — which are a completely intractable force of nature — and hire a good ethnic stylist to help this mess do what it’s been trying to do on its own since I was five. It’s that or move to the Mojave Desert, which Ron has vetoed.)
2. That the school board would one day announce, “Since we’re still flat broke and are probably going to have to continue to dump extra work in your lap without approving any pay raises for teachers, we thought we’d show you some love by amending our woefully outdated dress code to allow tattoos, as long as they don’t scare the children or promote immoral behavior.”
Because my last tattoo — a pair of fireflies I had inked onto my right ankle in honor of my twin nieces, who passed away in infancy — was not particularly well-rendered, and the artist’s unimpressive workmanship has become increasingly apparent over the past four years, I need to hire somebody really good to fix it. Unfortunately, odds are pretty high that the repair is going to involve inking over it with something else, which means it is going to end up much bigger than I’d originally planned.
Given the inspiration for the original tattoo, I think it would be trés appropriate to have it incorporated into a children’s-book illustration (maybe one of Maurice Sendak‘s Wild Things or a couple of Dr. Seuss’s Truffula trees).
This would be doubly apropos if I end up getting my master’s degree in children’s literature, which I am considering.
If my students happen to be reading this, you now know that Ms. Priddy secretly digs alt-couture stuff like dreads and ink. If you find this shocking, it’s probably time to quit sleeping through class….