Two forearms held together show matching tattoos: MRS with a red-bowed Minnie Mouse ear motif in black lettering, and MR with a black Mickey Mouse ear motif, both on the forearms.

Mr and Mrs Mickey and Minnie matching forearms

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two forearms are held side by side, one in a red lace sleeve and one in a blue shirt sleeve, against a plain white background. Each forearm carries a bold black handwritten word, MRS on the left and MR on the right, with a Mickey or Minnie Mouse ear shape above the lettering. The Minnie ears have a small red bow and the Mickey ears are solid black, giving a simple, clean, mostly black design.

Lettering Forearm Minnie mouse Mickey mouse Ear Couple Matching

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourselves down, the lift's been dead since Tuesday so you'll take the stairs and hear it slow, the way it deserves. On the fourteenth floor of Kestrel House lived Vera Ashdown and her husband Lenny, who had been married forty-one years and still argued over the telly remote like it was a treaty.

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They went down to the Crown Street arcade one wet March, because Vera had seen a leaflet for a man who did what he called small work in the back of a phone repair shop. Lenny said he was too old for ink. Vera said that was exactly why. The lad had a kettle, a cracked mug of pencils and a drawing of a mouse on his wall that Lenny swore was a cartoon from his own childhood. Vera wanted the ears. Lenny wanted them too, though he would not admit it until the needle was already humming.

She chose the bow for herself, a small red knot above the letters, and he took the plain black ears above his, because, he said, somebody in this flat had to look sensible. The lad wiped their arms with a cloth that smelled of surgical spirit and said they'd want to keep them out of the bath for a week. Vera said they had been out of the bath for forty years, and it was the only time Lenny laughed all afternoon.

When the power went in the stairwell that winter, and Lenny was carried down on a borrowed chair with his bad hip, Vera held his hand the whole way. Every landing, she turned his wrist so the ears caught the torchlight. "There," she'd say, "still matching," and the children on the stairs would shout up at them, and nobody ever asked which one of them had been the sensible one.