Gold foil temporary tattoo of three lip prints above the words CHEERS, BITCHES in block capitals on the inner wrist.

Gold foil lips and lettering on wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A close photograph of a gold foil temporary tattoo on the inner wrist and forearm, shown against a pale background. Three lip kiss prints sit in a row above the words CHEERS and BITCHES, set in a bold, sans-serif block lettering with slightly textured edges. The metallic gold ink is shown in a centred, straight-on composition with soft, even lighting.

Lettering Forearm Lip Text

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last Friday before the Crown shut its doors, I counted the glasses twice, because I didn't trust the first count. Forty-one pint glasses, and every rim wore somebody's lipstick. Thirty years of regulars had kissed their drinks for luck and then left the evidence on the bar. Mum would have scrubbed them before anyone saw. I kept them all, wrapped in tea towels in a crate under the till.

Keep reading

Dougie Pryce turned up at six with a roll of gold transfer foil and the face of a man asked to repaint a house he'd already painted. He had lettered the Crown's name across the front window in 1987 and never once been paid on time. 'Lips,' he said, peeling a sheet from its backing. He set three kiss prints in a row, then the words underneath in the bold block capitals he used for everything: CHEERS, and then, because Dougie had never in his life been told no, BITCHES. He stuck them to the crate lid, then the bar towel, then the mirror behind the optics, where the foil caught the light and threw it back gold.

Mrs Adair came in last, on her stick, as she had every Friday since the Falklands. She looked at the crate, at the shine on the mirror, at the words above the spirits. Then she pressed her mouth to the last clean glass and left her print beside the others. 'Cheers, bitches,' she told the empty room, and laughed until she had to sit down on a stool that had never been meant for sitting.

That night I peeled the foil off the crate one strip at a time and found the lips had stuck to my thumb. They came away bright and faintly ridiculous, and I left them there until the washing-up water ran cold. In the morning the gold was gone from everything except the glasses, which I wrapped and carried out to the car, forty-one little rings of somebody's luck.