Hell yes kids still give each other hickies, I busted my daughter with one last week. Oh, the horror. She's 18 now so there isn't much to say, except 'Use Protection God Dammit!".
The painting of the gas station on your Fixer & Gordon blog is very cool. I have very fond memories of our local gas station when I was a kid: the coke machine, the packs of ciggies so easily nicked, rainbows in the puddles of gas...and it cheers my old heart greatly to know that hickies have not entirely disappeared from the teenage wasteland.
I read that as, "I haven't given or gotten a hickory since I was fourteen."
I wasn't sure if your meant you hadn't had a bag of hickory sticks, or hadn't been thrashed by a teacher, as in hickory switch. Then I read Bridgett's breastfeeding comment and was utterly confused.
So I went back and reread the post, and now all is clear.
All these years, and I never knew girls gave hickeys. In "my day," hickeys were associated with the town slut, who walked around with a purple-spotted neck. Actually, I grew up in NYC, so in my neighborhood we didn't have a town slut; we had 400 town sluts.
I didn't want to be mistaken for one of them, so I discouraged the hickey thing. Plus I never found the process to be very erotic. "Why are you sucking on my neck? Can't we get back to what we were doing?"
Ah, but Bridgett brings up a good point. I was a La Leche League leader. Hickeys galore.
13 comments:
I was 16. Well, and then I breastfed Maeve...
Oh, great. Now I'm going to be having THESE kinds of thoughts all month.
Very distracting.
Mmmmm. Hickies. I remember those. The best ones were placed where only I knew where they hid.
And your face is beautiful. Just remember to use sunscreen.
Get thee to a pylon in a field immediately.
It was definitely a ritual or a rite of passage when I was 12, 13, 14.
Hell yes kids still give each other hickies, I busted my daughter with one last week. Oh, the horror.
She's 18 now so there isn't much to say, except 'Use Protection God Dammit!".
Hey, I know you: you know Lisa!
The painting of the gas station on your Fixer & Gordon blog is very cool. I have very fond memories of our local gas station when I was a kid: the coke machine, the packs of ciggies so easily nicked, rainbows in the puddles of gas...and it cheers my old heart greatly to know that hickies have not entirely disappeared from the teenage wasteland.
Whoa. Now this blog thing has just reached some new ground. Deloney and Busted Knuckles. I love how this blog world works.
I read that as, "I haven't given or gotten a hickory since I was fourteen."
I wasn't sure if your meant you hadn't had a bag of hickory sticks, or hadn't been thrashed by a teacher, as in hickory switch. Then I read Bridgett's breastfeeding comment and was utterly confused.
So I went back and reread the post, and now all is clear.
My cat's name is hickory.
And so it all comes 'round again.
All these years, and I never knew girls gave hickeys. In "my day," hickeys were associated with the town slut, who walked around with a purple-spotted neck. Actually, I grew up in NYC, so in my neighborhood we didn't have a town slut; we had 400 town sluts.
I didn't want to be mistaken for one of them, so I discouraged the hickey thing. Plus I never found the process to be very erotic. "Why are you sucking on my neck? Can't we get back to what we were doing?"
Ah, but Bridgett brings up a good point. I was a La Leche League leader. Hickeys galore.
the Husband accidentally hickeyed me last fall--after turtleneck season, so it was professional. the first time since we were teens ...
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