Two women seen from behind show matching black script lettering on their shoulders, reading a perfect sister I am not and but thankful for the one I've got.

Matching script quote tattoos on two shoulders

Lettering · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

Two women are photographed from behind, each with a line of cursive script tattooed across the shoulder and upper back. The left line reads 'A perfect sister I am not....' and the right reads '...but thankful for the one I've got', and together they form one sentence split between the two people. The lettering is fine and dark, appearing in black or near-black ink on pale skin, with a plain, neutral background.

Lettering Shoulder Script Quote Text Sister

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The flour is still hanging in the air when Dot arrives at the back door, cardigan buttoned wrong, and you have already pulled the first tray of rye. She doesn't say sorry. She never does. She takes the bench scraper off its hook and starts cutting the dough you left under a damp cloth, the way your gran taught you both before either of you could reach the sink.

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There is a rule about the ovens: the left deck is hers, the right is yours, and nobody touches the dial without a shout. For eleven years the shouting has been the only conversation you've managed without a solicitor or a cousin in the middle. Out on Hatter Street the wheelie bins blow over in the wind, and a van idles outside with its headlamps on, waiting for the bread you both promised the café by six.

In April you wrote the first half on the back of a docket, in your neat capitals, and pushed it under the flour bin like a dare. It said, A perfect sister I am not. She found it a week later and didn't mention it, and you didn't either, and the bin stayed where it was all summer.

At twenty to five she says, without looking up, that she burnt the Easter buns. You tell her you could smell them from the car park. She laughs, and it comes out of her like steam off a loaf, and for a minute the kitchen is warm and loud and entirely yours. When the last batch is bagged she slides a docket across the steel. On the back, in the cramped hand she has always used for things she means, she has written the rest: ...but thankful for the one I've got.