The summer of love has been over for a long time but hippies never die (even if they become hipsters).
I don’t want to think about nursing homes yet but, as I age and more people get tattoos and plastic framed glasses, I sometimes wonder if the next hip thing will be the nursing home.
All the other avenues might have been taken by that time. (Stick with me here)
The hipster movement came after my university days so I am kind of the other now . I begrudge my bottle caps plastic frame lenses are now a status symbol and back when they got me a single seat on the yellow school bus.
That sounds a mite resentful but I am really just jealous that I am never at the top of the trend wave but somewhere just before or just after.
Ever the wallflower.
I got my 1st tattoo after my 1st divorce and even at that advanced time in my life my mom worried; “Do you ever think of what that will look like when you get old?” Not really. I would never point out to my mom that people have been getting tattooed to illustrate their military service, prison time and the love of their lives for a very long time.
Now there is open season on ink art.
Hard to keep up with all the shops and choices. Your inked additions are only limited by your pocketbook. I have a special page on my phone just for ideas for tattoos. And Instagram, well let’s just say it’s not a back street art anymore.
Facial piercings haven’t seemed to become mainstream like the ink. I find them distracting and fascinating but that’s just me.
I tried a nose ring and accidentally ripped it out one day when I was toweling dry after a shower. I hope that wasn’t too much to share.
Back to the home
At the end of the day, I aspire to be the hippie chick in the nursing home that hides the mystery meat, won’t drink the vanilla ensure, has a mickey of gin in the sippy cup and proudly flashes my tats at the other inmates.
Hippies , see you there.