Yesterday, while out on the golf course, our foursome included a thirty-something oriental woman sporting an intricate lace-like tattoo on her outer, upper thigh. It was hard not to stare. Her golf shorts didn’t cover the pattern and every time she took a shot, I found myself watching her body ink respond to the hit rather than the ball. Shameless? I think of it more as a compliment.
Rounding the 14th green there were some landscapers off in the rough. It appeared they were in the process of clearing the area that later may be incorporated into the course’s greens. The big job of pruning trees took a back seat to their obvious admiration of my golf mate’s tatt. No words were exchanged, just admiring glances.