I have family coming into town tomorrow.
My dad is here in the states, visiting from Thailand, and I’m finally going to get a chance to meet my new stepmom.
My uncle is also coming up to visit.
After they arrive tomorrow the Bean and I are heading over to downtown Portland, to go to some uber-fancy Christmas party for his work.
It’s all Filet Mignon, formal wear and fancy champagne flutes.
And guess who has a giant new hicky on her neck?
The Bean and I were…. uh….. “folding towels”, and I was like, “Yeah! You fold that towel! Woohoo for towels! Folding towels is great! Go laundry!…… wait. WAIT. STOP. DID YOU JUST GIVE ME A HICKY?”
But by then it was too late.
Seriously, who even gives hickies anymore? We’re 31 years old, Bean. Nobody is going to buy the whole “I burnt myself with a curling iron” excuse.
If anyone asks me about it, I plan on telling them, “Yeah, my husband – that guy over there – gave it to me during a vigorous towel-folding session”, and then refuse to elaborate.
Unless it’s my dad that’s doing the asking.
In that case, I burnt myself with a curling iron.