January 2nd, 2020.
It’s been exactly one year today since our old friend Jose “voluntarily” tattooed this lengthy, redundant, poorly-spelled confession on his chest. You can read the original story here, but Jose was determined to enter 2019 a brand new man. A repentant man, hellbent on earning his wife’s trust back after his countless encounters with the notorious women of the night.
Did he earn her trust back? Did he receive the forgiveness he so desperately wanted? Did he atone for the pain and suffering he caused his marriage? Did he ever learn how to spell words like “deceive” and “respectful”?
Call me a hopeless romantic, but I’d like to think so.
I’d like to think that today, somewhere in the Houston area, Jose and his wife are doing better than ever. I’d like to think that they sat down this morning, shared a lovely breakfast together, he kissed his wife goodbye and on his way to work, he didn’t even think about a single hooker. Not even one. I’d like to think that this horrendously embarrassing tattoo serves as a daily reminder of the man he used to be, not the man he is right now.
I’d like to think, but I don’t.
And we’ll never know…
Happy New Year.
