Angie was my ex-girlfriend's best friend. They had a ritual--every Friday they would go out, drink rummy fu-fu drinks--spin the little umbrellas, and talk shit about men. Then they would come back to our place, eat, puke, and pass out. There were a few nights, that it looked like we might have a ménage à trois but that never panned out. I do still have the occasional ménage à un thinking about it, though.
When I first saw Angie's tattoo, she called it a "Tiger-Lily"--I called it a bunch of Band-Aids, (ouchless) with some high school mascot on them. That is when we stopped being civil. She started to tell people what an asshole I am, and I proved her right by humming the "I am Stuck on Band-Aid" jingle whenever she was around, which may be Manilow's most haunting work.
Extra deduction for not believing me that Barry wrote that shit.
Don't fucking ask...
What this tattoo says about the wearer:
They hold on tight no matter what to fingers, toes and knees.