would you get married or tattooed instead?

“Get married,” said my mom, notwithstanding the fact that my golden years are not yet over. Golden years of bachelorhood, golden years of FREEDOM! But all good things come to an end, and those that haven’t, will. Tomorrow’s another day, but today’s mine. And I shall not share it with anyone; someone who’s so permanent. Yes, permanence is the word I dread most. I’m no celebrity after all, to whom marriage is just another tuxedo. I’m no child of the west, where marriages end more often than one receives the monthly pay cheque.

Marriage! It’s quasi tattoo! Only, tattoos pain in the beginning, and then lasts forever to remind you constantly of that pain through a colourful mosaic of a scar it leaves behind. NO! I can’t live with something so permanent. “But you have already lived half your life, what now remains is the fading bit,” said my friend, the third eye.

Ummm! Now that sucks. The third eye never lies. Tattoos and marriages are going to be a part of my fading remainder, and a permanent reminder of my own impermanence! “Ok, Mom, go find me a girl, while I go get myself tattooed!”