Sweethearts, it’s your grandmas. Yes, from beyond. We were at our weekly bridge night and a little issue came to our attention that we need to discuss. You may think that this issue doesn’t rise to the level of paranormal communication. Maybe you would rather us use this power to tell you that we love you, or that it was painless at the end or, in Ethel’s case, where we hid the alternative version of our will that leaves the Fort Lauderdale timeshare to you. But this is important.

Please stop getting tattoos to “honor” us. We don’t like them. You know how we feel about tattoos. Remember how we asked if your ex-boyfriend was in a gang because he had Snoopy tattooed on his bicep?

Take poor Jean Marie. She floated down for a little visit to her only beloved granddaughter (not the other granddaughter who is significantly less beloved). Jean Marie thought she’d see her sweet little sugar-pie light a candle for her, or perhaps finally use that afghan she knitted for her. But instead, she found her face permanently inked on her granddaughter’s thigh. What’s worse, the other, non-beloved granddaughter had a matching one! That granddaughter didn’t even like her! But now, a poor approximation of Jean Marie that looks similar to a haunted Victorian child is disfiguring the thighs of her two living legacies.

And it’s not just the portraits. Peggy’s grandson got a bouquet of sunflowers to commemorate “how she loved flowers.” What he didn’t remember is that Peggy had a severe pollen allergy. That was the whole reason her room at the nursing home was full of fake flowers. She didn’t like them. People just kept giving them to her every time she was in the hospital, and they never died and Peggy was a little bit of a packrat, so at some point her room just became a plastic greenhouse. If he really wanted to honor her, he could’ve gone with something that she actually loved. Her casserole dish. Orthotic footwear. A bingo card. Days of Our Lives. Pat Sajak in one of his hot little suits.

Honeys, we’re worried. We know that grief and loss can be hard, but it doesn’t mean that you have to make poor, permanent decisions. We have quite a big bridge group going (thousands of us, to be specific), so we have ten of thousands of perfect, sweet little shnookums to keep an eye on. So we see all of you going on Pinterest and looking up “tattoo to memorialize grandma ideas.” We hate to break it to you, but you are all getting the same bad tattoos.

You got our signature or one of our handwritten notes etched into your skin. Touching in theory, but dear, did you really have to pick the grocery list? “Eggs, milk, don’t forget butter” is now forever on your ribs.

If you can’t name a single Bible verse but you’ve got “Psalm 23” stretched across your chest, we have questions. Similarly, if you never once stepped into temple but got a full Torah passage in Hebrew—upside down, by the way—we are clutching our ghostly pearls.

Look, we appreciate the sentiment. Really, we do. It’s sweet that you wanted to keep us close, even if it’s in a way that makes strangers on the beach deeply uncomfortable. But next time, maybe honor us in a way that involves less permanent body modification. Make kugel. Yell at a teenager about their ripped jeans. Or, and this is just a thought, donate to the local library in our honor. Because between us, sweethearts, we would have haunted you a lot less if you had just gotten a nice little plaque.

Hugs and Kisses,
Your Dead Grandmas

P.S. Remember to take those iron supplements we got you from QVC.

P.P.S. Tell your fathers that they have separate letters coming for them.