Oh Eck

Earlier in the week my Grandmother had a stroke, these things happen at 87. Last night my sister had to go into hospital in Cambridge to be induced, some minor problem with her pregnancy. My parents went on a mercy dash to look after their grandaughter whilst my sister and brother in law are in hospital producing grandchild no.2 (well my sister is doing all the work/producing, B.I.L is just there to get in the way).
I'm tattooed, not just 1 or 2, but quite heavily. Big celtic pieces on my left arm and left thigh, right arm has a half sleeve which will be extended into a full sleeve and so on. For the last 7 years I've managed to hide the fact from my parents about being tattooed for fear of their disapproval/rollocking I would get for being tattooed. Pathetic at 37, I know.
Last night I got the reassuring phone call that all was well with my sister (phew). Then the tone of my mothers voice changed, to THAT tone of voice. You know the tone, the one that turns you into a quivering jelly, takes you back to being a three year old, and accompanies your full name. "We've seen the photo" she said. "Oh yeah which one?" I replied in all innocence. "The one of you finishing the triathlon, with all your tattoos on display." quoth my mother. "ah" was all I could respond with. "we'll talk about this when we get home" said she.
I am so dead. Anyone got any spare cash so I can escape the country?
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