A year ago today, I was wandering about, helping Molly and other members of the wedding party with make-up, running errands, and fending off excited questions about the night before. As in:
"So, what happened last night?!"
"Where did you and Rob disappear to?!"
"You look tired - how late were you up?!"
I daintily observed that a lady never kisses and tells, so I could assure them that Rob was a very good kisser. He was the consummate gentleman, going about his business of videoing the wedding prep like a pro, discreetly winking at me and eventually getting my phone number. I wondered aloud all day about the ink on my lip, where it had come from since I don't chew pens, why it wasn't rubbing off, and when I finally took a good long look at it, I realized that it was a bruise.
As in, my lips were so out of practice due to my unfortunate and prolonged chastity that the smallest peck left a bruise. BECAUSE THAT'S ALL WE DID. Pecked. Once. It was very sweet. Prim, even.
However, in my horror at having a bruise on my lip for all the world to see (and I honestly didn't put it together until JUST before the wedding itself), I cornered Rob and told him in no uncertain terms that if (I SAID IF, MISTER!) we ever pecked again, he had to be very careful because I was such a fragile flower.
As soon as he realized that I was only partly serious and that he had left an impression, in a way, I discovered that he has a rather devilish grin... I also discovered that my color of lipstick is rather appropriately named.
1 comment:
That's the same color I wear!!! seriously, and I love it not too dark and not too light :)
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