The only time I remember even having a tattoo is in the summer. Inevitably, as I’m out and about in a tank top, revealing the small black scorpion on the back of my shoulder, some moron will swipe me and say, “Hey! You got a bug on you! Heh. Heh.”
Despite my Scorpio nature, I restrain myself from taking a swipe at their face and saying, “Hey! You got something on you! Oh. That’s just your face.”
Today, as I was at the fruit market, one of the vendors yelled out, “Hey! Are you a Sagittarius!”
I pretended not to hear. And who knew? Perhaps there was someone standing next to me with an archer on her back.
Alas, apparently men who make a living yelling at tourists and Asians for touching the fruit are not easily deterred. “Hey! Are you a Sagittarius!”
Oh for the love of … I turned around. “No! Scorpio! This is a scorpion!”
Everyone turned to see who the fruit vendor was awkwardly trying to pick up. I was sick to my stomach. I mean, how cliché can you get? A guy asking what your sign is in the produce section? I felt like I was in a Lifetime special.
Luckily, a hapless Asian woman feeling the tomatoes rescued me from more embarrassment.
“Hey! Hey you! NO touching the tomatoes! You try it, you buy it, you cheap bastids!”
I sprinted away with only a lonely bag of mangoes. I’d really been eyeing those peaches and nectarines, too. Whoever said shopping at the farmer’s market was a good deal obviously never had a scorpion tattooed on her back.