Another First

Well, those of us with kids know how special some of those "firsts" can be. You know, the first word, the first step, or the first tooth. Then there are those firsts that aren't so celebrated, such as the first detention, first traffic violation, and of course, the first hickey.

Really, I'm not quite sure what says poor white trash like a big, purple, pulsating, thronging hickey right in plain view. Except perhaps having such a hickey while perched on the hood of a '82 Camaro, drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbon, sporting cut off jeans shorts, a wifebeater, and a mullet.

As the Mom of Hickey Guy, it's embarrassing for me, so I have no choice but to make it a little embarrassing for Hickey Guy and his girlfriend, hereafter to be known as Hickey Chicky. What the hell? I think I'll just sit them down for a nice little talk that'll start something like this:

"You know, guys, it's not that hard to make out without leaving any marks on each other. After all, Mr. H and I play some serious championship level tongue hockey and you don't see any boo-boos on me, do you?"

I'll improv the rest, but I can't promise it won't include a rendition of that old Toni Basil song Hey Mickey. Only in this case, of course, it would be Hey Hickey.