Details

          Recently at breakfast, before I had been fully resurrected by my daily caffeine, K asked me why I'd never used the temporary tattoos he got me for Christmas.*
 
          "Um," I said, my mind full of grey mist, unwilling to admit that I didn't actually remember Christmas.

The kind of Christmas present every gal should get.

          "I got those especially for you," he said. Accusations and recriminations hovered uneasily over the breakfast table.

          It seemed like my safest move at this point was to go dig out the tattoos, apply one, and get back to my coffee before it got cold.

          Two minutes later, I held out my arm to K.

          He squinted at the letters I'd bonded onto my skin. "God js is the details?" he said, puzzled.

          I pulled my arm back and examined it. "Dammit. I thought that 'j' was an italic 'i.' It was backwards on the transfer. It was hard to read."

          K smirked at me. "Apparently the devil is in the details, too."

Spelling-impaired temporary tattoo.
Thank goodness I'm not a real tattoo artist.

---------------

*Yup. We are wild and exciting folk, K and I.