Grow Some Testicles

One Way to Make Your Mark....

Though the Resident didn’t leave his number, he definitely left his mark. Two of them, actually. A pair of matching hickeys now grace our young heroine’s neck, one on each side. “Who gets hickeys anymore? Isn’t that a high-school thing?” Luis asked. Since insomnia and near-daily episodes of oversleeping have relegated her to that lower caste of NYC woman, the subway makeup artist (a frequent target of rants on craigslist), she has been forced to not only apply her retinol-infused concealer to her undereye circles, but to the spots on her neck as well. It’s bad enough that people on the subway usually stare at her while she puts her makeup on (clearly, she thinks, in awe of her mad liquid-eyeliner skills), but the very act of applying concealer to one’s neck has a tendency to draw attention. The absence of six inches of hair, recently removed by an overzealous hairdresser, reminds her even more of her plight. Surely the extra hair would have adequately covered the spots, but her sassy new haircut does little to assist in the masking process.

On the morning of the fifth day of neck-concealer application, and after repeated comments from friends and co-workers alike, our young heroine realized that she was not so young. Though most of her hickeys were gained in college, not high school, she clearly remembered them fading at a more rapid pace. Never were more than three days of cover up needed! Either the Resident was a vampire in disguise, or her healing capabilities are not what they once were. A quick glance at her bruised left knee, still purple and sore from the same fateful night, confirmed her suspicions. She was getting old.

She supposed the situation would not have been so dreadful if the Resident had actually called. In that scenario she would be able to say, excited and confidentially, “Oh, yes. I’m so embarrassed. I met this guy last week and we really hit it off. We’re going out this weekend.” But instead, her weak attempts at explanations seemed to announce, “I’m easy! I’m a slut! I make out with men who’ll never call!” The looks on her conversation-partners faces seemed only to confirm her worst suspicions. And she can’t imagine why a boy who was never going to call would dare to mark her in such a manner.

But her biggest worry of all is yet to come. Through a strange and circumstantial turn of events, she has a date later this week, a date with a promising potential Prospect (that is, if he doesn’t stand her up—she can’t quite contain her pessimism). He already has her number, so at least she won’t have to worry about that. What if the date goes well, and HE ends up kissing her neck? Will the hickeys have healed? If not, she doubts the concealer will be enough to cover them from an amorous attack. Will the Prospect notice? Will he say anything? Will the presence of hickeys on her neck prevent him from calling again?

posted by . @ 11:22 AM