Maybe ‘Face got tattoo’ed with y’all in this unfortunate event: I swore a blood oath to OldTax-lady that I never would. (Also that I wouldn’t ride a motorcycle or be a teenage mother, a police officer, or a CIA agent.)
Does that mean I can't tell OldTax-lady about the Cub Scout Day Camp when six of us accidentally drank the fermented "bug juice" and woke up in Norfolk with the U.S.S. Raingutter Regatta tattoos?
I've never let anyone why you don't cut your hair short enough to show the back of your neck. Promise.