When did life become so boring and we have so much money to waste,  that the need to cut and paste ourselves became a cottage industry?  Children I can understand, most recently a blond haired nephew of mine, was found hiding behind the couch at a family dinner, were he had removed his shirt and with a black sharpie marker, illustrated himself  ala Ethel Hays, but without the pancakes.  If you have to ask, just know it was politically correct.  I also understand tattoo art,  my children have all been dipped in an ink well, one way or another, and my late father as much as he hated them in his old age, served his country and his tattoo parlor with pride.

What strikes me as bizarre is the need to send large sums of money to pierce places – painfully albeit, that very few, if anyone else will ever see, and likewise jewel or feather over something God already decorated, rather nice and practical I might add.  If you are already shaking your head in agreement, read on – if not I would suggest the pickle option, and unlike a Seinfeld episode it doesn’t rhyme with a girl’s name, it is just a friggin Gherkin.

Am I to believe there is a rational need to spend from $200 and up for feathers and fur, to bring back a questionable practice from 1617?  And again, in the moment that will arise, who cares if you look like a parrot – not the cockatiel you are planning to copulate with that is for sure.  I have decided other countries must look at us and shake their heads in amusement, disgust and confusion.  Seriously, where else on the planet, are people left unnecessarily underfeed and  homeless, while others over feed their egos, and spend money replacing something they already  had in the fur place.

I remember growing up the term pasties had nothing to do with kindergarten glue or dessert – at least in my house that is.  They were also under $5 and could be written off on an IRS employment form.   Yes, at any given moment, there is a need for self expression, a change of lipstick, a new pair of shoes, a hair style or yes, even some ink.  But hundreds of dollars to  just  be blown to the wind – or something like it.    Somewhere in the vast galaxy of the past and passing, PT Barnum is shaking his head wondering how in the world he could have been so blind, as to not have had a wild Merkin on display, because we have proved there is indeed one born every minute.