Dear boys, please read this:

It’s time I put out a final plea to all men that I know:

Please stop trying to eat me. I’m not that sweet, and would appreciate it if you tried not to leave with a hunk of my flesh.

What starts out as a little frisky fun, always turns me into looking like a battered housewife the next day.

Take Rojo. Rojo was an ass smacker pure and simple. Yes it was sexy, yes I liked it, but really boy – do you need to leave a freaking handprint on my bottom? The police could have taken fingerprints of my arse and arrested him for endangering the bootie.

Next up is the Biter. The Biter, appropriately named, decided one night to try and eat my lips. Yes, thank you dear but I bruise like a peach. The next morning I had a family brunch to attend. The minute I walked in the door, my sister rushed me to the bathroom thinking I was asphyxiated or dying in some air deprived manner. I looked in the mirror horrified to see that my lips were completely black and blue. There is no amount of lipstick, regardless of color, that can hide purple lips. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of any lie that would work. I told them I was ill.


Lastly we’ll end on D. D did a good job asking me beforehand if there was anywhere I didn’t want a bite mark. Right now, out of the moment, I can think of a lot of places I don’t want someone’s tooth impression. At the time, I think I said my neck was off limits and left it at that. D didn’t quite pay attention so well. Yes, today I am the proud member of “The girl at the meeting with the bite mark on her neck” group. After work, we’re going to smoke cigarettes in the parking lot together and talk about boys.

Unfortunately, D did not stop there. Let’s just say – I should have worn a running bra to work today. Every time the girls bounce a little, I’m taken back in pain. Looks like no V-necks shirts this weekend for me.