EXHIBIT A: The hickey
I love hickeys. I love both giving and receiving these hickeys. I know it's a very sixteen year old thing to do, but still, I love the battle scars of being loved recently. And I give awesome hickeys. They're huge--not the wussy red blotchy things--but ENORMOUS purple-y blue things. They look like bruises, these hickeys. And, no, they don't hurt at all. Here's how I do it:
INGREDIENTS: One willing and able boy
One hour of making out before that so that boy is willing and able
Pick an erogenous zone. The neck, of course, is the traditional spot for love bites, but you could also go for the shoulder or the pelvic girdle.
Find a slightly loose bit of skin, not attached to bone or anything.
Using your lips, get a hold of said skin. DO NOT use your teeth.
Apply suction, similar to getting the last bits of a really really thick milkshake into your mouth for about three to four minutes.
Sit back, and watch the glory that is your hickey.
(Then of course, there are the hickey excuses. Most frequently used: "It's a mosquito bite!" Most imaginative: "I hit myself in the neck with a hanger!" Most likely to get you into trouble with your mother: "It's a highly allergic reaction to something I ate.")
EXHIBIT B: The teenage high school romance chick flick
Can't Hardly Wait
Ten Things I Hate About You
Never Been Kissed
The question is, where were all these yummy, delectable Heath Ledger types when I was in high school?
EXHIBIT C: Make up
Here, the question for the defendant is, "Why, when you decide to wear make up, do you always look like a paint-by-numbers experiment?"
Every adult woman should have some basic knowledge in this field. All I can do is kajal. And shiny lipgloss. And there are some people I know who have been able to do shiny lipgloss while they were still foetuses.
EXHIBIT D: Low alcohol threshhold
Normally, I can drink quite a few people under the table. But of late, something very strange is going on. Maybe it's because I don't go drinking as often as I used to, and even when I do, I nurse like one or two drinks all night. Whenever I happen to consume more than three drinks I'm flying, so happy, doing, "I'm the king of the world!" hands and giggling all over whoever happens to be with me. I also notice I blink more when I'm buzzed, and then since I'm noticing that I'm blinking, I concentrate on the blinks, till I'm sitting there with my eyes half shut and almost fall off my chair, at which point someone or the other says, "Okay, let's go home". Oh wait, what am I saying? My friends are as alcoholic as I am. That sentence should have read, at which point someone or the other says, "Okay, let's do shots!" Is it any wonder then, that my liver has just about given up on me?
(This part of the post needs a little disclaimer to all you holier-than-thou types who are going to attempt to say something about my hedonistic lifestyle and to remind you of two things a) I exaggerate sometimes and b) you're awfully boring, so please, I appreciate the thought, but just consider all your Wisdom already imparted, yeah?)
Why I'm actually NOT a high school girl:
> I'm twenty five, which, if I was still in high school, would make me a retard
> I don't look good in cargo pants
> Or those little pleated skirts everyone above twelve seems to be wearing
> I look like I should belong to the Good Girls clique, but seeing as I smoke so much, I'd be placed in the Disturbed Angsty Girls Who Are Actually Really Hot And Smart As You Find Out Towards The End Of The Movie clique
> In real life, I flitted from clique to clique, not really belonging to any of them
> This was good, because I got invited to all the parties and didn't have to participate in any of the politics
The defence rests, your honour.