Friday, December 18, 2015

Love Is...Scabby

It turns out that, back in the day, Precocious Daughter and her boyfriend both attended the same day care at the same time.

If you believe in such things...

Neither of them remembers the other, BTW. But I have a stash of videotapes (remember those?) of PDaughter's annual Christmas shows at her day care, and one of these days I'm going to review them and see if she and the boyfriend appear on the same stage.

How amazing would that be?

I'll have to check that out.

In other news, PDaughter had a half-day at school today because of exams, and she spent the afternoon with her boyfriend at his grandma's house. Because I'm working my ass off at my IRL job and taking a Friday afternoon off is like LOL whut pfffft.

I love my job.
Long story short, when I picked up PDaughter this evening, she had a wee hickey on her neck.

Because apparently hickeys are still a thing.

Remember when we used to blame apparent hickeys on curling-iron burns?

Not me, because at 16 I was fat, ugly, and boy-resistant.
But probably some of you remember.

I asked her if it was a hickey. Her response: "Maybe."

Parents of teenagers or future teenagers: "Maybe" always, always means "Whatever answer you don't want to hear...yes, that."

I've already dealt with the sex stuff.

Somehow the idea of two teenagers, who have been dating for more than a year, having sex is less difficult for me than being confronted with a small red hickey on my child's neck placed there by her boyfriend's hungry suction-heavy kisses.

If that sentence didn't make you uncomfortable, congratulations, you don't own a teenager.

Let me reiterate: When I was 16, boys didn't know I existed. The fact that PDaughter has been in an exclusive, committed relationship for more than a year leaves me speechless, flabbergasted, gobsmacked. Choose your adjective to describe total bewilderment and lack of empathy.

I love her so much, you guys. And being a good mom is the most important thing in my life. Even though, frankly, I'm winging it every freaking day.

What is the appropriate reaction to a hickey? I'm thinking the options include honest conversation, firm condemnation, and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Not sure which is the most appropriate, though. Asking for advice here.

Am I doing this remotely correctly?


  1. The first hickey I got was pointed out to me in class by a female classmate the next day."Hey, what's that on your neck?" I looked in the mirror and there was this bruise. "An insect bite," I said. it was the first thing I could think of. "Must have been a very large insect," she replied drily. We left it at that.

  2. No idea since I don't have kids, but if my dog came home with a hickie I'd probably never let her off leash again. That lab mix she has a crush on treats all women like bitches. So disrespectful.

  3. Eh, ignore it. The novelty will wear off. Maybe.


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