Sad Little Tart

And no I'm not talking about me! I was in Tim Horton's today (shut up, they have really good steeped tea!) and there was this trio of tarty tarlets (I'd guess about 14-ish, you don't get to be a real tart until at least 17) in the line ahead of me which really isn't anything out of the ordinary (I do live in Duncan). You know the type, tight low-rise wal-mart brand yoga pants, cropped extra tight hoodie, teeny tiny tank top underneath (I'm still wearing my scarf and I'm inside!) and platform sneakers. Who wears platform sneakers? Where do you even find platform sneakers after 1995? But anyway, I'm hanging out in line feeling vastly over-dressed for the occasion when suddenly tarty tartlet number two turns around and I had to almost bite off my own tongue to stop from laughing outloud. Because I'm not a very nice person. But seriously, this poor little tartlet had more hickeys than I've ever seen on one person, at one time in my entire life. And I've had some seriously tarty friends in my time. I lived in Sayward! I was going to say there were a zillion of them but then I figured it would be better if I had an actual number. So here it is...9. Nine hickeys! Now, I'm not a prude. I'm not. I'm not a turbo slut by any means but I'm not often mistaken for a nun either but I was shocked. Shocked I tell you! Who wanders around with a low-cut tank top and an unzipped hoodie with a zillion icky hickeys? Who?! Try saying icky hickey 10 times fast. I just did and it was fun. So there you go. I love Duncan.