‘I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo,’ Gerald said softly, as he flicked through the morning paper. Agatha, his wife, almost spit out her tea.
‘You’re thinking about what!?’ she gaped.
‘A tattoo,’ he repeated, frowning over the financial report. ‘Just something simple – maybe a sleeve, or something tribal.’
‘What on Earth—’ Agatha cut herself off with a suspicious frown. ‘Har-har. Very funny.’
‘Funny?’ Gerald asked innocently.
‘You’re trying to goad me,’ she said. ‘Trying to show me the most ridiculous idea, so that whatever you actually want doesn’t seem as preposterous. I’ve been married to you for sixty-seven years, dear – I know all of your little tricks.’
He didn’t answer, but to flick to the next page of his paper.
‘Ooh, this looks like a good tattoo shop in Brisbane that does tribal tattoos,’ he murmured.
‘The game is up!’
‘Oh, bother you!’ he glared at his wife, dramatically cracking the paper in half and slapping it onto the table. ‘You think I’m so sneaky!’
‘You aren’t, then?’ she shot back.
‘No!’
‘Then why all of this ridiculous talk of getting a tattoo? Over our morning toast, of all things!’
‘Because I want one,’ Gerald pouted, bottom lip wobbling in genuine anger. ‘Why is that so hard to believe?’
‘Because you’re eighty-four!’ she shot back.
‘Oh, bah!’ he said. ‘And I’m eighty-three!’
‘Your birthday is in a week!’
‘Then I have the perfect idea for what you can get me!’
‘You’re unbelievable!’ Agatha shook her head, picking up her cup of tea. ‘Besides, I don’t even think it’s possible.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘Tattooing…us,’ she said, finally.
‘Old people?’
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘There’s probably a law about it. So there, you’d have a hard enough time finding anybody, let alone this tribal tattooist that you’re so desperate for.’
They sat in silence for a while, their tea slowly cooling in the morning air. Gerald sighed and picked his paper up again.
‘I could get your name, if you’d like?’
‘Gerald!’