Chomping
Recently, a commenter to a post of Deanne mentioned 'love bite'. This is a term that has bamboozled and amused me in equal measure ever since the age of 13 years, 4 months and 26 days.
Please, let me explain.
A temporary red mark on a person's skin resulting from kissing or sucking by their lover (def.) is a straight forward enough thing in terms of how it's produced and what it looks like. Some are purpley, some reddish, some deep dark blue, some 'dotty', some more solid-looking, and some will go through phases featuring each of these appearances. Some will last for days, others will be gone in hours. Now, in the throes of pash - when the juices are flowing and general trouser- and skirt-forms tell of zealous anticipation, a spot of devouring seems quite acceptable to me*. However. 'Love bite' - no, this is not an acceptable term. 'We-were-getting-down-to-rudies-and-we-got-a-bit-carried-away-and-now-m'-neck-looks-like-it-was-struck-by-a-speeding-golf-ball bite' - yes, that's more like it - it's more of a 'does exactly what it says on the tin' kind of a label. To ascribe 'love' to the bite is a bit much, I reckon. And as for suggesting the word 'love' is derived of the expression 'love-making bite', I say 'Oh pleeeeaaase, passez la sick bucketez'.
My first experience of being purple-patched was as a drunk teenager coming under the bicuspidy molaric spell of a girl called Maggie who'd been in my Maths class. I later presumed that she'd not eaten for a while. Anyway, having departed Maggie and returned to the parental home at some middle-of-the-night hour I sat down to play the video recording of the Chris Eubank boxing contest that Ma Wexford had recorded for me. As I sat on the big settee, wondering why the television set was orbiting right before me I heard mother plodding down the stairs. She entered the room and let out a cry of great amusement. Until this moment, I hadn't realised that I'd been savaged about the neck. It was all very embarrassing. Two days later there was some awkward shuffling in Maths, and through the icy quiet that followed my old pal Kevin commented 'Did you get up to much this weekend Maggie?'. 'Ask Shane' she replied. Kevin then turned to find that he was in fact sitting beside a beetroot. Since then there have been few occasions of colourful biting incidents, though I'm rarely far from a shirt with a collar.
I did mention my gentle consternation at the term 'love bite' to an old girlfriend, and was inspired enough to laughingly pen this:
Title: 'Love Bite'
Love Bite
A bite of love
From me to you
Simple and nonsensical, just like the term itself and the old girlfriend.
You may wonder why I've not yet made reference to the expression 'hickey'. Well, the reason is that that sounds far too twee - and as you'll gauge from dipping into my archive of posts I'm a rock 'n' roll, Mr Mean Mr Nasty, far from twee, really quite raucous kind of a guy. Or something to that effect.
I'm rambling, there are other things that I'm meant to be writing. Let this silty meandering nonsense end.
[* I confess to grimacing whenever I see someone unself-consciously bearing their markings in public.]
I was crushed to discover that 'love bite' is not featured in the Oxford English Dictionary. Crushed I tell you, simply crushed.
*****
I do love this image from Interview with a Vampire.
Please, let me explain.
A temporary red mark on a person's skin resulting from kissing or sucking by their lover (def.) is a straight forward enough thing in terms of how it's produced and what it looks like. Some are purpley, some reddish, some deep dark blue, some 'dotty', some more solid-looking, and some will go through phases featuring each of these appearances. Some will last for days, others will be gone in hours. Now, in the throes of pash - when the juices are flowing and general trouser- and skirt-forms tell of zealous anticipation, a spot of devouring seems quite acceptable to me*. However. 'Love bite' - no, this is not an acceptable term. 'We-were-getting-down-to-rudies-and-we-got-a-bit-carried-away-and-now-m'-neck-looks-like-it-was-struck-by-a-speeding-golf-ball bite' - yes, that's more like it - it's more of a 'does exactly what it says on the tin' kind of a label. To ascribe 'love' to the bite is a bit much, I reckon. And as for suggesting the word 'love' is derived of the expression 'love-making bite', I say 'Oh pleeeeaaase, passez la sick bucketez'.
My first experience of being purple-patched was as a drunk teenager coming under the bicuspidy molaric spell of a girl called Maggie who'd been in my Maths class. I later presumed that she'd not eaten for a while. Anyway, having departed Maggie and returned to the parental home at some middle-of-the-night hour I sat down to play the video recording of the Chris Eubank boxing contest that Ma Wexford had recorded for me. As I sat on the big settee, wondering why the television set was orbiting right before me I heard mother plodding down the stairs. She entered the room and let out a cry of great amusement. Until this moment, I hadn't realised that I'd been savaged about the neck. It was all very embarrassing. Two days later there was some awkward shuffling in Maths, and through the icy quiet that followed my old pal Kevin commented 'Did you get up to much this weekend Maggie?'. 'Ask Shane' she replied. Kevin then turned to find that he was in fact sitting beside a beetroot. Since then there have been few occasions of colourful biting incidents, though I'm rarely far from a shirt with a collar.
I did mention my gentle consternation at the term 'love bite' to an old girlfriend, and was inspired enough to laughingly pen this:
Title: 'Love Bite'
Love Bite
A bite of love
From me to you
Simple and nonsensical, just like the term itself and the old girlfriend.
You may wonder why I've not yet made reference to the expression 'hickey'. Well, the reason is that that sounds far too twee - and as you'll gauge from dipping into my archive of posts I'm a rock 'n' roll, Mr Mean Mr Nasty, far from twee, really quite raucous kind of a guy. Or something to that effect.
I'm rambling, there are other things that I'm meant to be writing. Let this silty meandering nonsense end.
[* I confess to grimacing whenever I see someone unself-consciously bearing their markings in public.]
I was crushed to discover that 'love bite' is not featured in the Oxford English Dictionary. Crushed I tell you, simply crushed.
*****
I do love this image from Interview with a Vampire.
posted by Shane @ 12:00 pm
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