In case you don’t remember, I got married last year. Married people (usually) have sex. But if you are related to me, have an impressionable child on your lap, or any other vested interest in not knowing Aussa makes the beast with two backs, then you should probably stop and go read this old post about goats.
Now that it’s just us perverts, I will show you a photo of the hickey Alex gave me last week:
This is all very embarrassing and not something I would normally call attention to. Let’s do a basic word association and see what you immediately think of when I mention hickeys:
(That’s very judgey of you, but we can still be friends.)
Unfortunately, I still had to go to work– despite the t0-scale replica of the United Kingdom screaming from the side of my neck.
Hickey Work Day 1: I did what any trashy teenage whore would do– I wrapped myself in the fluffiest scarf I own and refused to take it off for 8 hours. We ended up having an incredibly productive day and my boss attributed it to the voodoo of the scarf.
Little did he know it was the power of the hickey.
Hickey Work Day 2: I was down to my second fluffiest scarf and growing overly confident in my ability to conceal the love bite. As I sat across the desk from my boss, sharing a brilliant idea, his brow became increasingly furrowed. But I kept talking.
“So I’m thinking we [insert some incredibly boring statement about some incredibly boring topic] so that we are able to–“
“IS THAT A HICKEY ON YOUR NECK?!”
He was leaning forward like he’d spotted Big Foot in a patch of trees behind the 7-11.
“Umm– I need to get my legal pad.”
I jumped from my chair and bolted out of the room so I could text Alex.
“Tell him it’s a birthmark and he’s a jerk for never noticing it before,” he suggested.
When I returned to the office, my boss looked smug.
“Good for you,” he said. “Good for Alex.”
I shuffled some paper and started talking about boring things again.
Hickey Work Day 3: I showed up with another pashmina wrapped tightly around my neck.
“Good morning, how’s your hickey!”
I mumbled something unintelligible, trying really hard to go back to the good old days when he thought I was a sensible human being.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “I think it’s nice of Alex to give you something to remember him by while you’re at work.”
Hickey Work Day 4: We were meeting a client for lunch and the sun was beaming down in typical Denver fashion. I was roasting beneath the layers of fabric tucked beneath my chin. As we stood in line to order, my boss leaned over to whisper.
“So do we need to order a separate lunch for your hickey?”
Thankfully it’s starting to fade and I’ll soon be able to wear normal clothes without making everyone avoid eye contact with me. When I come up with a suitable punishment for Alex, you’ll be the first to know.
Can I please hear YOUR hickey stories now?
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