You dash around the house in search of your makeup, desperately aiming to diminish the visibility of the hickeys on your husband's neck. Meanwhile, he rubs his neck, furrowing his brows, observing his partially unbuttoned dress shirt and the hanging tie in front of the mirror, where he stares intently. His phone keeps ringing as his secretary insists he needs to be at the office in an hour for a meeting.

"How can I go to work with these hickies, my love?"