I had my first fainter today. And I'm not even going to describe the hideous eyeball I had to put flames around this morning. As for the fainting, it doesn't seem fair. I am the grandmother. I should be calming, comforting, motherly. But, no, I got a virgin victim for my third piece. A burly young blond guy named Peter with his pregnant GF, who brought his own drawing of a skull. Not my ideal, but not a bad drawing. Unfortunately, young Pete didn't last five minutes into the lining before breaking into a sweat and losing color in his face. At Matt's suggestion he took a break and headed outside. He hit the ground as soon as he hit the fresh air. Fortunately, the pregnant GF was there to help him up. I was thinking about starting a pool on whether or not he'd be back when he stumbled in and sat back down. I asked him to promise not to throw up on me and he manned up and finished without more than a whimper. Good for you, Pete.
Tristan loves the skull tattoo. He was very impressed when he saw my photo of it. I told him that he can't be tattooed until he's 18, so he wanted to know if there was a law about him being the tattooer; I could teach him and he'd open his own shop. Tomorrow we're supposed to get our own machines. T-rex will be very impressed, I'm sure.
Brainless Tim called in the middle of everything to see if I was going to poetry tomorrow night. Of course I didn't answer the call. Poetry is in a different universe than where I am right now. The only constant is how annoying Tim can be.