This past weekend, our town put on a Business Expo where area groups and businesses got an opportunity to let people know about their services – table after table of what was going on in our town. I worked at the library table and Marc was there for the historical society. Not only is the Business Expo informative, (and very social, *everyone* from town was there) but it’s always a lot of fun and, quite frankly, it’s *the* family event to attend because EVERYONE gives out candy.
Seriously it ranks second only to Halloween night. My kids, who (even in their teens) have restricted access to candy, went crazy squirreling away the treats in pockets that they hoped I didn’t know about.
One of my reader (Hi Sunita)’s daughter had set up a henna tattoo booth at the event. She’s saving up money for a computer (hey, a kid who is working for what she wants, props to her) by doing henna tattoos on people’s hands.
Henna is a plant that when dried and crushed can be made into a paint-like substance that will stain the skin. The paint is put into what looks like a tiny pastry frosting bag and the artist “draws” on you by squeezing out a steady, tiny flow from the bag. The paint comes out thick and almost black and you leave it on your skin until it hardens and flakes off on its own. When it does this, it leaves behind a “stain” where it had been.
You’ve probably seen pictures of women with these tattoos, usually flowered and always intricate designs.
My friend’s daughter had a whole book of designs from which to choose, but you know me, I wanted a chicken.
After searching for a suitable design, we both agreed on one and she put a henna tattoo of a chicken on the palm of my hand.
A little worried, Sunita warned me that the tattoo would probably be there for a few weeks, “was that a concern?” she asked me.
Um, no.
The tattoo would get darker, Sunita said and then she told me that brides used henna tattoos as part of their wedding preparations and the old wives tale said that the darker the tattoo became the more the husband loved the bride (geesh talk about pressure.)
Which made me think that if I were a bride with a henna tattoo, I might be tempted to carry a black fine point sharpie in my wedding purse. But then, that’s just me.
I told this to my kids that night at the dinner table. Of course both of my daughters immediately demanded to see the progress of my tattoo. They had seen it shortly after it had been applied when it was a light yellow/orange color.
“It’s definitely darker mom,” they both, still believers in fairy tales, squealed.
“Dad loves you.”
Although it’s always nice to have it confirmed, it didn’t take a henna chicken tattoo to tell me what I already know. This rooster is staying in this coop.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
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