Normally, I would give pause and really become concerned about what telling a story involving a burn that looks like a hickey might do to the child with the burn-that-looks-like-a-hickey. Except, the moral of the story (yes, even burns-that-look-like-hickeys have morals) is that said wearer of said offensive burn clearly has solid self-esteem. Here’s how I know that now:
Katie was curling her hair with her ginormous, super hot curling iron that does not curl her hair all that well but does, in fact, burn her skin brilliantly. We found out later at the hair salon that everyone has done this, it’s awesomely funny and yes, Katie needs a curling iron that gets far hotter than the one she has. We need the hair to curl and the burns to blister instantly to avoid burns-that-look-like-hickeys and also, your mother writing blog posts like this. Moving on.
A side note to this story is that I am taking my life in my own hands writing it. This was more of a subconscious fear until Katie walked through the room in her crazy plaid pajama pants and I broke out in a cold sweat hoping she might not ask what I am typing so furiously over here in my little corner.
Our story begins in the bathroom one morning as Katie was getting ready for school. Katie was curling her hair with the crappy, but super hot curling iron and she burned her neck. Not enough to blister, because everyone knows hickeys do not blister, but enough to leave a rosy, red blotch on her neck.
Surprisingly, kids in high school do not care if you have a red blotch on your neck, under your ear. Not because everyone is sporting them but because hickeys are just so darn cliche` and “The Breakfast Club” called and would like their teen angst and fake ID back.
Guess who does care? Your father picking you up from school. Not because he thinks you have a real hickey but because you complain you have a giant burn that looks like a hickey.
Mike asked, “Do you want to run some errands with me?”
“Sure.” Kate replied.
“Then you’ll have to cover up your hickey.”
Kate, not skipping a beat, “Bitch, take me home.”
So you see, my child is not lacking in self-esteem. Even with a hickey-burn which has now faded to a lovely golden crisp that no longer resembles a hickey.