I don’t want to make the entire student population jealous of me (OK, we all know that’s a lie), but my tattoo has magical powers. Though it is a small, mild-mannered tattoo by day (and night, too, come to think of it), my tattoo has the power to alert me when complete morons are within a five-foot radius.

I know. If only I could learn to use this power for good.

The other day, when I was walking across campus, minding my own business, I dropped my notebook. So, like any normal girl with superhuman body art would do, I bent over to pick it up.

Then I hear, “”Jesus!””

So of course, I jerk back up and start looking around, because if Jesus is walking around campus, I sure as hell don’t want to miss it. But as I’m gazing about, trying to pick out which surfer-student might be Christ Almighty, all I can see is this guy looking at me like I’m, well, the anti-Christ.

Guy (eyes the size of saucers): “”You have something on your ass.””

Oh yeah, that’s what every girl wants to hear. Take me now, oh baby.

I made a quick perusal of my ass, which of course makes me look like, well, an ass.

Me (not seeing anything out of the ordinary on my ass): “”No, there isn’t.””

Guy (still scared shitless): “”Oh yes there is.””

So I keep checking out my own ass like some sort of circus freak. And I’m obviously getting a little pissed off, because if my ass is so big that I can’t even see enough of it to locate whatever this guy is so freaked out over, I certainly don’t want to hear it. Fuck that.

Me (fucking that): “”Well I don’t see it.””

Guy (moving closer to me to point at my ass — not the smartest move): “”It’s right there.””

Now I notice two things: one, that Jesus Freak Man isn’t pointing at my ass, he’s pointing right above it; and two, that if he takes another step toward me I will be able to rip his face off in one fell swoop.

Me (pleased that at least my ass isn’t huge): “”That is a tattoo.””

Guy (extremely suspicious): “”Are you sure? It doesn’t look like a tattoo.””

At this point, I decided to walk away. After all, I only have 10 minutes between classes and it takes me at least 15 minutes to deliver a proper ass-whuppin’, which probably wouldn’t make this moron any smarter anyway. So I settled for a sassy eye-roll. Praise Jesus.

Now, I should mention that my tattoo does in fact look like a tattoo. Specifically, looks like a black Celtic knot on the center of my lower back, which, according to other morons on this campus, means I’m a lesbian.

Last year, everyone I worked with at the Guardian would laugh when someone said the word “”flabbergasted.”” (And yes, we are all dorky enough for this to occur quite a bit.) When I asked why, I was told that it was because of a conversation two of my friends had on AIM, which went something like this:

JOKERGIRL: You know, Carrie is a weird girl.

TYPICALMAN: Why do you say that? (Already we can see that this guy is fairly clueless, because I am obviously weird.)

JOKERGIRL: Well for one thing, she totally hit on me a couple months ago.

TYPICALMAN: Oh my God!

TYPICALMAN: I am flabbergasted!

Now, obviously this guy is trying really hard to imagine two chicks flirting (as most men do about 23 hours per day), so of course the next thing he types is:

TYPICALMAN: Tell me everything!

JOKERGIRL: Well, a couple of months ago, I was alone in the office and she came in and asked me for a book, and when I turned around to get it, she started caressing my back and giving me these seductive looks.

TYPICALMAN: Wow.

JOKERGIRL: Yeah, but the best part is that none of that ever happened.

Well of course now we all feel bad for TYPICALMAN because his fantasy didn’t turn out to be a reality. (Actually, I think I speak for all women when I say: the hell we do!) But I felt prompted to ask him why he believed the story in the first place.

His response: “”Why wouldn’t I?””

My response: “”Because you know I’m not gay.””

To me, this would seem like a pretty convincing argument. But this guy had a comeback: “”But you have a tattoo.””

Warning! Moron in the area! Evacuate immediately!

So basically, I have a magic tattoo that tells me when I’m dealing with imbeciles. The only question is: Will I rip their faces off or date them? (And more importantly, which is worse?)