Most of the time, humans are incredibly creative people that are always willing to express themselves through actions that mirror their inner emotions and ideas.
To better express their inner creativity, some people write, others construct things, and yet others use art. The act of creating something that other people can understand is more significant than the technique.
This is nothing new, really. We have nearly as much history of creation and construction as a species. Take a look around you and you’ll see artistic touches in almost everything that people have created, including simple city planning, food, clothing, and architecture.
Therefore, it should not be shocking that so many of us decide to use our own skin as a canvas.
I am speaking of tattoos, which for the past few millennia have been deeply significant in a wide variety of civilizations throughout the world. Although in the past some communities disapproved of tattoos, they are now more commonly recognized as a way for the wearer to show their individuality and soul.
Although this differs from person to person, most people who choose to have tattoos consider them to be significant in some way. Words or phrases that really resonate are prevalent, as are signs and symbols indicating a passion or interest.
The notion that the majority of tattoos have a meaning is possibly what makes this so fascinating. To put it another way, they may offer a clear or hazy window into the owner’s thoughts.
Now, it’s crucial to keep in mind that this doesn’t always imply good things. Some people wear emblems that the bulk of society despises with pride. Some people have tattoos, which could be a clear warning indication.
As an illustration, take the three-dot tattoo, which is often believed to have a direct connection to the Russian penal system. You may not be familiar with the three straightforward dots in a line that we’re talking about here, but you’ve probably seen or at least heard of people with facial tattoos—many of whom have a criminal history.
Regardless, I was… and I felt it would be great to spread the word about the meaning in case you ever come across someone sporting this kind of tattoo.
In short, the three-dot tattoo has many symbolic connotations and typically represents devotion, secrecy, and the duration of a person’s prison sentence. The actual marking, which is frequently applied to the left hand, is said to have its origins in Buddhist symbology. The dots are meant to symbolize a rejection of violence and wickedness; they are said to represent the three wise monkeys who see no evil, hear no evil, and say no evil.
The three-dot tattoo is really more frequently associated with the Russian prison system, as it is regarded as a mark for extremely serious offenders. A person with three dots may have spent up to thirty years in prison because each dot is meant to symbolize ten years of incarceration.
The three-dot symbol is another way that criminal groups can utilize their members to identify themselves. In these situations, others may interpret the tattoo as a threat or warning.
Having said that, it’s crucial that you follow your gut and exercise common sense when deciding how to respond if and when you come across someone who has a three-dot tattoo in person.
Some people may get it inked on them for cosmetic reasons without having any connection to illegal conduct at all. Some might have undergone reform and rehabilitation, making them less dangerous than they previously were.
Although it’s usually best to avoid making snap judgments, at least you’re maybe a little more prepared now!
Our Stepdad Gifted My Mom a Pack of Toilet Paper for Her Birthday — Our Revenge on Him Was Harsh
My stepdad always made a big deal about being the “man of the house,” but when his “special gift” for my mom’s birthday turned out to be a pack of toilet paper, I decided it was time for payback. And let’s just say someone else ended up desperately needing that present.
My stepfather, Jeff, loved reminding us he was the breadwinner of the house throughout our entire childhood. Anytime we sat down to dinner, he’d start with his usual spiel.
A man lauhing at a dinning table | Source: Midjourney
“You’re lucky I keep this roof over your heads,” he’d say and chortle. He also said it all the time while leaning back on his worn-out recliner. It was his favorite thing in the world.
My mom, Jane, always nodded along. She was the kind of woman who avoided conflict at any cost. She wasn’t raised in the 1950s, but her upbringing had been different from ours. Staying quiet had become almost an art form for her.
As her kids, my siblings (Chloe, Lily, and Anthony) and I could see that she desperately wanted to speak up but didn’t. Meanwhile, we surely didn’t consider him “the king of the castle” or a “real man,” which were other phrases Jeff used to describe himself.
A woman at a dinning table | Source: Midjourney
Yes, he paid all the bills while we were growing up, and we were thankful. But that wasn’t an excuse to treat our mother like a servant and think he was better than the rest of us.
We had tried for years to get Mom to leave him to no avail.
Eventually, we all moved out of their house as we reached adulthood, but my sisters and I continued to visit Mom often. Anthony lived on the other side of the country, but he checked in every other day.
A man on the phone | Source: Midjourney
Still, we worried about her.
I felt that our visits weren’t enough to truly know what was going on in that house. I often sat alone in my apartment and wondered if Mom would ever leave this man and if there was something he could do to finally make her snap out of her proverbial shackles.
Yes, this is where it gets good.
This year, Jeff simply went too far. For days leading up to Mom’s birthday, he wouldn’t stop bragging about the “special gift” he’d picked out for her.
A man on a reclining chair | Source: Midjourney
“This one’s going to knock her socks off,” he said over dinner at their house, grinning like a buffoon.
I wanted to believe him. Maybe he had finally decided to treat her with the respect she deserved. But deep down, I knew better. Jeff was Jeff, and people like him never changed.
My mom’s birthday arrived, and of course, my sisters and I were there, sitting in the living room. Jeff had a twinkle in his eyes, and I knew Mom had hope in hers.
Three sisters with presents in their hands | Source: Midjourney
After she opened our presents, my stepdad handed her a huge, beautifully wrapped package. He was smiling, and my mom’s face lit up as she carefully untied the ribbon.
“Oh, Jeff, you didn’t have to,” she said softly.
“Yes, I did. Go on. Open it,” he urged, leaning forward in his chair.
She unwrapped the box slowly, savoring the moment… until she saw what was inside— toilet paper. 12-pack. Four-ply. Jumbo rolls.
A woman smiling with a big present | Source: Midjourney
Mom blinked in confusion.
“It’s so soft. Just like you!” Jeff declared, slapping his knee and cackling. “And look, four-ply, to represent your four kids. Perfect, right?”
Mom let out a nervous laugh, but I could see her eyes glistening. My sisters and I exchanged a look. This wasn’t just a bad joke; it was cruel.
We’d had enough. We had to do something.
A woman looking angry | Source: Midjourney
***
Two days later, our plan began to take shape. Jeff loved two things: being the “big man” and free food. So, we invited him to a “family dinner” at the Chinese restaurant he always raved about.
Chloe, my youngest sibling, was the one who planted the idea.
“We’ll do it in his favorite place. He won’t suspect a thing,” she said, smirking.
Lily, being the eldest and most practical, raised an eyebrow. “And what happens after?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Chloe replied. “We’ll handle it.”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
We set the date and made sure to hype it up, so Jeff wouldn’t miss it.
“Dinner’s on us this time,” Chloe told him sweetly
Jeff puffed out his chest. “Well, it’s about time someone else paid for once. I’m glad that being out of the house has finally opened your eyes to how great you fared because of me!”
We rolled our eyes internally.
The restaurant was bustling that night. Shiny red lanterns hung from the ceiling, giving the space a nice reddish glow.
Chinese restaurant | Source: Midjourney
The food from other tables smelled delicious, and I could tell Jeff was hungry as we sat down at our table.
“When are your mom and Lily getting here?” he asked, wrinkling his nose toward the front door.
“Don’t worry. They’ll be here soon. How about we order food anyway?” I suggested, nodding towards Chloe.
She agreed and started rattling off things she wanted, things we specifically planned to order: Szechuan beef, Kung Pao chicken, and the spiciest mapo tofu on the menu.
Chinese menu | Source: Midjourney
Jeff ordered his usual, but I knew what we had in mind would still work.
Each dish came out looking like a masterpiece of fiery reds and deep browns, garnished with fresh herbs and enough chili to make a grown man cry.
Chloe’s eyes twinkled as the waiter finished arranging everything on the table.
“Jeff, you can handle spicy, right?” she asked, pretending to be concerned.
A woman smiling at Chinese restaurant | Source: Midjourney
Jeff stayed silent for a second, stumped, then nodded quickly. “I didn’t realize you gals wanted to share everything. Of course, I can eat anything. Nothing is ever too spicy for a real man.”
I chimed in with, “Be careful with these, though. They’re pretty hot.”
I just knew my words would make him mad.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Amelia,” Jeff scoffed and took his chopsticks to skewer a piece of beef straight into his mouth.
A man looking serious at a Chinese restaurant | Source: Midjourney
At first, he gave out an exaggerated moan, to “prove his manliness,” but soon, his face turned redder than the lanterns above us. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he chewed and breathed through his nose.
“Everything alright?” Chloe asked, again faking worry.
“Yes, yes,” he lied through his full mouth. “This is good stuff.”
I was sure Jeff wouldn’t grab more after gulping down an entire glass of Coke, but Chloe and I began eating in earnest.
“Oh, it’s not so spicy after all,” Chloe commented, smiling sugary-sweet. She was baiting him.
A woman smiling with chopsticks in her hand | Source: Midjourney
I nodded, grabbing more.
Not to be outdone, Jeff began to eat more. He was breathing roughly now, but when we asked if he was alright, he simply said, “This really clears the sinuses, gals.”
Still, his fingers went up and snapped at the waiter to bring him more Coke.
Chloe leaned over and whispered, “He’s going to feel that later.”
“Oh, definitely,” I whispered back, grinning conspiratorially.
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
***
While Jeff was busy showing off his “macho” tolerance for heat, Mom and Lily were busy back at the house with a rented U-Haul and movers.
They worked quickly to load up Mom’s belongings, such as clothes, keepsakes, her favorite chair, and even the toaster. I told them to take the things Mom had given Jeff over the years by saving up when she could: the recliner and his specialty tools.
A truck and workers loading boxes | Source: Midjourney
But the pièce de résistance was Chloe telling them to remove every single roll of toilet paper in the house.
***
Jeff was still red when we left the restaurant, and he was grumbling about Mom and Lily being no-shows. So I just suggested going to the house to see if anything had happened.
When we arrived, everything was ready. The truck had already left. Meanwhile, Mom and Lily were hiding in the garage.
Jeff walked in with Chloe and me right behind him. He barely made it two steps into the living room before he froze.
A dimly lit living room | Source: Midjourney
“Where’s my recliner?” he barked, scanning the empty spot.
“Gone,” Chloe piped in casually, tilting her head. “Mom took what’s hers.”
Jeff turned to us and his face reddened again, but before he could say another word, his stomach gurgled loudly. He doubled over slightly, clutching his gut.
“Oh, man, I think that spicy food—” He paused, looking around frantically.
A man holding his stomach | Source: Midjourney
“Is something wrong, Jeff? I hope it wasn’t the food,” I said, blinking innocently.
He stared daggers at me before bolting down the hall. Moments later, we heard the bathroom door slam.
Lily and Mom appeared out of their hiding spot right in time to hear the sound of Jeff panicking. “What the hell? Where’s all the toilet paper?!” he yelled.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“We took that along with the recliner!” I shouted, laughter bubbling up. “After all, it also belonged to Mom!”
A woman laughing | Source: Midjourney
“WHAT?” he shouted back.
It seemed like he wasn’t getting it, so Mom stepped closer to the bathroom door. “I’M LEAVING YOU, JEFF! And I took what was mine,” she exclaimed firmly. “Including my dignity.”
Jeff groaned loudly from behind the bathroom door. “You can’t just leave me like this!” he yelled.
“WATCH ME!” Mom replied, adding, “Not that you can right now, but enjoy staying in the bathroom all night!”
A woman next to a closed door | Source: Midjourney
My sisters and I stared at each other, giggling.
Jeff groaned, and there were other unsavory sounds, which I took as our cue to leave. “Let’s go, Mom,” I said.
She nodded and walked out, thanking us.
***
The next day, Jeff tried to call her. Over and over again, he left voicemails full of fake apologies and pitiful excuses.
“Jane, come on, be reasonable! You can’t just run off like this!” he begged.
A man using a phone | Source: Midjourney
But Mom didn’t answer or call back.
Instead, Chloe had a better idea.
On his birthday, we sent Jeff a little gift. A jumbo pack of toilet paper, wrapped just as carefully as the one he’d given Mom.
Attached was a handwritten note that read: “For a real man.”
Rolls of toilet paper on a porch | Source: Midjourney
Mom moved in with Lily, a temporary arrangement where we all helped while she found a job. Anthony was delighted to learn about what we had done and wished he was there, too.
From what I hear, Jeff’s still complaining to anyone who’ll listen. But Mom is finally living her life without his control, and we couldn’t be prouder.
A happy woman | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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