Black fine line script reading be happy on the inner wrist, with bright pink nails and patterned fabric in the background.

Be happy script tattoo on a wrist

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a hand resting against a wrist, showing the words be happy in thin black cursive script. The linework is clean and even, with solid black ink and no shading. Zebra-print and floral fabric fills the background, and bright pink nail polish is visible at the top of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Other Script Handwriting Phrase

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The band at the Palais had been playing the same foxtrot since eight, and Dorothy Pringle had stopped counting bars somewhere around the third time through. Her partner, a bank clerk called Lionel Hask, held her as though the draught from the doors might carry her off. He trod on her left foot twice before the chorus, apologised both times, then looked at her with the anxious earnestness of a man told to enjoy himself who has no idea how.

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'You're meant to look pleased,' she said. 'Nobody's asking you to win anything.' He tried a smile. It sat on his face like a borrowed hat. Dorothy had taught in this hall for nineteen years, Tuesdays and Thursdays, to brides who needed a waltz and widowers who needed somewhere to be on a Saturday. Pinned behind the piano was a card in her own slanting hand that said only: be happy, it is not a test. Most of her pupils never read it.

When the record hissed to its end, Lionel did not let go. He took a folded card from his breast pocket, and his fingers shook as he opened it. On the back, in careful pencil, was the line he had copied off her wall during his first lesson in March. He said he had not understood it then. He said he understood it now, and asked whether she would walk with him to the seafront to watch the tide come in, since he had never once in his life done anything without a reason.

Dorothy read her own words back to herself and found she had no argument left. Outside, the sea was drawing away and leaving the sand bright as a pressed sheet, and behind them the band struck up again.