Hickie of the Damned

As I was walking down the hallway today, I overheard a portion of a conversation between two 1st graders.  This is what I heard:


"My dad says there's no such thing as vampires."
"Uh huh, there is too such thing as vampires.  My mamma said one bit her neck in college."

Toby "Azrael" Reynolds
Voted Most Likely to Become
Your Child's Orthodontist

I just kept walking, because sometimes it's just best not to know some things.  Of course, I was thinking about it for the rest of the afternoon.  Was his mom a goth kid?  When did she hang up the black and white striped socks, the nose ring, and the white face paint for mom jeans, pastel polo shirts, and a minivan?  Was  this bite really a hickie from some gross guy in a bar wearing a Concrete Blonde t-shirt, a pewter pentagram necklace, and long greasy hair?  Alas, the world may never know.


I had a friend in college who dated a closeted, vintage clothing aficionado, "Wiccan priest."  I put the priest part in parenthesis, because he told a story of making a "safe journey" potion for a friend.  One of the ingredients was the blood of his friend's spirit animal.  When discovering that said spirit animal was in fact a bald eagle, and that obtaining it's blood would be nearly impossible and highly illegal, he substituted it for the next closest thing: cherry Kool-Aid.  Yeah, hope that turned out well for ya.  I'm sure the great Wiccan god of travel accepted it and all went well.