Tattoos and ... things

We were sitting outside idling the day away and my mind, unhinged as usual, became filled with stray thoughts. I don't have any tattoos and I began wondering if I got one, what should it be?  I asked el jefe and he studied me thoughtfully, then said he believed a tattoo of Woody Woodpecker smoking a cigar would fit me perfectly. My uncle, who was visiting us (yes, that uncle) corrected him, saying that the bird was not Mr. Woodpecker but Mr. Horsepower, the logo of a performance auto parts shop. 

Why would people tattoo the logo of an auto parts shop on themselves, I asked.  They both shrugged.  My uncle suggested I should get a tattoo of Betty Boop.  While he and el jefe discussed whether Ms Boop should be posing in a cocktail glass or astride a motorcycle, I wondered why so much of popular culture, whether candy bars or cartoons, originated in the 1920s and1930s. I guess it was America's coming of age era, when it by then had developed and matured its own distinct culture and history with unique musical, architectural, culinary and literary styles among other things.  You  could grab a hamburger and a Coke, then go to the movies and watch a Walt Disney cartoon, see a western shoot-em-up with Tom Mix and his wonder horse Tony while munching on a Baby Ruth.  Afterwards, you could take the elevator to the top floor of a skyscraper to someplace called the Madhattan Room to dance the Lindy Hop to the swinging jive of Woody Herman or Kay Kaiser.

While I was drifting down Merry Melody Lane, imagining myself dressed in something clingy by Madeleine Vionnet, debating whether I should practice my Greta Garbo or Mae West persona when Glen Miller asked me to take a ride in his Buick to go watch the midnight submarine races, el jefe and my uncle decided that I should have a large tattoo on my back of copulating cartoon pigs with the slogan "Makin' bacon," I asked what happened to Betty Boop?  I like Betty Boop.  She's who I would be if I were a 1930s cartoon. Certainly not Clarabelle Cow.  They shrugged again. I nixed the swinish suggestion.

The men then began discussing camshafts for some reason and I thought about the name Betty.  Why was it once so popular?  There was Betty Boop, of course, but also Betty Rubble, Betty Crocker, Bettie Page, Bette Davis, Bette Midler, Betty Grable, Betty Hutton, Betty White, Betty Ford, Betty, Betty, Betty. I don't care all that much for the name. No reason, I just don't.  I have a good friend named Gwen...Gwendolyn...and I like that name. Always have.  I wondered if I like the name because I like my friend or I like her because I like the name.  Silly?  But what if she had a name I hated, like Bertha, Mildred or Gertrude? Would I even have bothered to have gotten to know her?

My newest, who had been amusing himself on the ground, climbed up into my lap ready for chow so I unbuttoned my blouse and he giggled and latched on with a will. Both men stopped talking and looked away.  It's funny how guys will obsess over boobs and pay money to have a girl show them hers, but when they see one being used for its purpose they get embarrassed. Or maybe they are just being polite.  I don't know.

Of course, as soon as the future emperor of the world was done nursing he pooped. I got a fresh diaper out of my baby bag and began changing him. As I was cleaning him, he got an erection (nothing sexual about it; it's just a boy baby thing).  I knew what was coming so I was quick to try to cover him but not quick enough as he began fountaining pee over me, a contented smile on his face.  When that happened with my first boy, I didn't know what was coming, leaned over him wondering why he had gotten an erection and he peed in the face. 

I heard laughter and looked over to see both guys watching me.  I made a face at them.

My mother, who had been working in the rose garden, came around the corner brushing something off her sleeve and saw us.  She marched over and stood between me and the two guys, glowering first at them, then at me.  "Wanda, you cover yourself right now.  What do you think you are doing?"  She picked up my baby and rocked him. I heard el jefe mutter "Here we go." I could have explained but I just pointed to the baby bag then held my fingers to my nose.   She'd been there in her time so she understood.

"Well, you could be more modest, you know," she said.

"Oh, it's just el jefe and...."

"Even so." And she glared daggers at both men, who looked like little boys being scolded by their grandma.

 Why don't you join us, mom?  Have some ice tea."

"Well, I will, but I have to wash up first.  You close your blouse, Wanda.  You hear?" she said as she handed me my baby, his arms stretched out for me. She went into the house.  I stuck my tongue out at her back. 

My baby, seeing the cafeteria still open, snuggled against me and began nursing again.  The sun was warm, the sun was bright, the sun felt wonderful on my skin. My baby tugged at my breast, my other one began leaking. I had breast pads in my baby bag but it was too far to reach without disturbing his lordship so I let it go.  I would have to change later anyway. After a few minutes, I decided to switch him to the other breast, pushing open my blouse so he could reach it. I left the other one exposed, wanting to get some UV rays on it. I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth, feeling the little one tugging on my nipple, pushing the breast with his hands.

I heard glasses clink and unc say, "You're a lucky man, Jeff. What a set!" I opened my eyes to see both men looking at me as el jefe was saying, "They're especially big when she is nursing; they're full of milk." I was tempted to say, "Are either of you boys hungry?" But I didn't.  While thinking what goofs men were to be mesmerized by the sight of boobs, I realized that I enjoyed their gaze, liked letting them see. I smiled at them and el jefe raised his glass to me.

I looked up at the blue sky and racing clouds high up.  Saw barn swallows circling and zooming. Heard a dove coo. I felt a slow rush of pleasant happiness sweep over me. Somehow, somewhere, I heard a lute playing, something I somehow knew but had never heard before.

My uncle said, "I should go." and el jefe said, "No, stay. When that boy grows up you can tell him about the time you saw him suck on Wanda's tits, take a shit, get a hard-on and then piss on her." 

 "I'll wait till he introduces his prom date to me."

I heard a door slam as my mother came back outside. "Wandaaaa!"

I pulled my blouse over my stupid boob and tried to cover the one my boy was using.  He unlatched and began possetting. 

If I were emperor of the world
And master of all cities
I’d pass a law to keep the girls
From covering their titties.
       ~ George Yesthal