Good Girl script tattoos on thighs
Lettering · Thigh · Mixed · Photo
Two large tattoos sit on the thighs: black script lettering reading Good Girl, with ornate scrollwork beneath each word. Orange flowers and green leaves appear near the inner thigh, and shaded grey detail fills the lower areas. The person is bending forward in striped blue and pink shorts, which fill the top of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Keep your wrist off the board, Tom, or the G will wobble like a drunk man on a pier. Dilys had her spectacles pushed up into her grey hair and a smear of lamp black on her thumb, and she did not look up from the bench. I was nineteen and had been lettering for her since Easter, mostly house numbers and the odd price card for the fishmonger, so when she handed me the long oak board for Mrs Abernethy's kennel gate I thought I had finally been trusted.
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The order was plain enough. Two words, GOOD GIRL, in the tall looping script her father had used on the lifeboat station, with a scroll of ivy curling beneath each word. In the lower corner went a spray of orange poppies and green leaves, shaded in grey to look like the stones of the old sea wall. Dilys pinned the drawing to the bench and said the poppies were the important part. They were what would make people stop.
It was the G that beat me. I laid it out four times in chalk before I trusted the brush, and on the fifth, with the sun coming through the back window and the enamel drying slower than I liked, the loop closed clean. Dilys came over, studied it for a long moment, and said nothing at all, which from her was a medal.
Mrs Abernethy collected the board on Saturday. She ran her thumb along the R and said the old retriever it was meant for had sat at that gate every morning for eleven years, waiting for a van that never came back. 'She was a good girl,' Mrs Abernethy said, 'and I wanted the gate to say so before I go.' Then she paid in coins, and Dilys wrapped the poppies in newspaper so they would not chip. I signed the corner under the grey stones in tiny capitals, as I had been taught, and the next morning rain ran down the varnish while the poppies glowed through it like something lit from behind.
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