Halley Metcalfe: Hickeys

How gross are hickeys? Yes, ladies and gentleman, I’m 25 and have a hickey on my neck. I neither asked for or endorsed said hickey, and I am most mortified that it has presented itself upon my person. I thought these days were far behind me, but here I am; a variety of concealers and powders in hand, attempting to cover the bastard up for fear of passersby’s thinking I’m a harlot.

 

As if a walk of shame isn’t bad enough, but to have to then go home to your parents (yes, 25 with a hickey and living with my parents, living the dream indeed) at 12.30pm on a Saturday, still in your dress from the night before? Well, it doesn’t leave you feeling fresh and proud of yourself.

 

What I don’t understand is: WHY do people do this? What on earth makes a person think: “Yes, I think I will publicly humiliate this person by way of branding them with my mouth.” It is neither sexy nor charming, and all it does is make me want to cower and hide until my body is broken-blood-vessel free.

 

My Google search engine has a few interesting additions from this weekend. Searches such as: ‘How to get rid of hickeys quickly?’, ‘Does toothpaste get rid of hickeys?’, ‘How to cover up hickeys’, ‘Why am I still behaving like this at the age of 25?’, ‘What else can you say hickey’s are?’ and ‘How to get four days off work when you’re not sick’.

 

 Here are a few things I’ve found out: Toothpaste does bugger all; The ol’ ice-cube on a teaspoon in clockwise/anti-clockwise circles for 10 seconds at a time only works within six hours of said attack; Ditto for eye drops; Some translucent powder, a little light concealer and another layer of powder covers it up as much as possible… any more make-up on it and you’re making it more obvious; Telling people it’s a bruise only leads them to think you’re either into some weird shit, or in a violent relationship – neither reflects on you any better than having a dirty great hickey on your person; People don’t believe you if you say you were bitten by something, even though technically, you were; If you have long hair, revel in it. If you don’t, sucks to be you; Avoid hooking up with anyone younger than you – it only leads to regressing as a human being and using several concealers to cover shit up (and yes, he was over 20 – so everyone calm down).

 

Why, if I am so repulsed and embarrassed by this awkward situation, am I writing about it? Well, tragedy + time = comedy, true. But stupidity + immediate confessions and ownage = a chance of getting your self-worth and dignity back. I said ‘a chance of…’ not a definite.

Here’s hoping it’s worked.