There really isn�t a huge story of any sort behind my final tattoo but it was thought out and has a lot of sentimental value for me. On the inside of my right ankle I have a pumpkin. It has a big leaf at the stem and is sitting on a pile of leaves. Does it stand for the size of my butt you might ask? Nooooo. Does it imply that I love to eat that particular fruit/squash/whatever it is? Not really. It stands for love. The people/things/time I love. Whaaa? You say? Ok I�ll tell you.

It starts when I was a baby. My mother used to always call me her love pumpkin. I was a roly-poly kid and apparently very loving. To this day she still refers to me as that at times, even though I�m pushing 35. Yikes. I always find it endearing even if I don�t say so. That moved on to my children. When each was a baby they were my little �pumpkin pies�. When Kelly was born in 91 I used to sing �She�s my pumpkin pie, pretty little girl, such a sweet surprise� Instead of Cherry Pie. I know, I�m cool like that.

On top of that, I was born in Nov. and have always favored the fall. I love the colors, the smells, the crisp air (in Okla. and Austria particularly). I fill my house with pumpkin pie, apple pie, and cinnamon scented candles. I used to bake a lot of apples but I work now and never seem to have time. Not to mention there is only one kind of apple here and it�s about 5 bucks a pound. I wear Pumpkin Spice Body spray from Bath and Body. I smell good.

And there is Halloween. It is my absolute favorite holiday. I pulled out my Halloween decorations the other day. It seems I have 9 boxes of decorations and costumes for Halloween and 3 for Christmas. Hmmmm. What does that say about me? Too bad no one here appreciates it the way I do. I think the skeletons are freaking out the housekeeper. I�m going to watch Horror movies all month and celebrate October. I�ll also read October Dreams. It�s a collection of scary stories and Halloween memories from different Horror writers. Good stuff. I�m getting giddy just thinking about it.

Anyway, that�s what my last tat stands for. No, I won�t get anymore. I have run out of acceptable places to put one . Well, I could put a Pooh Bear on my tush. However the idea of a stranger tattooing my butt doesn�t work for me. No, not so much.

This concludes my series of ink stories. Thank you and have a good weekend. Party on, Wayne. Party on, Garth.

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