When I was a teenager, I went to see punk groups like the Dead Kennedys at this legendary hole-in-the-wall, chicken-wire type of club called the Electric Banana (long gone, now). (There was this old goth couple who everybody called Johnny and Judy Banana, who ran the place.)
I snuck out to see Corrosion of Conformity at the Electric Banana (I was seventeen, but had a friend's ID...). I was wearing my new beret that I'd bought at an Army Surplus store. I was standing near the back, listening to the music (the mosh pit was in the front, and I DIDN'T want to go there!) when this guy with a foot-tall orange mohawk slices by and takes my brand new beret, and heads for the mosh pit.
I'm like, that jerk just stole my new hat! So I chased him to get it back. I didn't get the hat back. What I DID get was trampled by the slamdancers. I had a bruise on my left breast in the exact shape (and imprintation) as a Doc Marten's undersole.
Now, my mom was making my prom dress that year, because it was still the 80's, pastels reigned, and it was completely unhip to wear black to the prom. You couldn't fins a black prom dress anywhere. So my mom was making me one. The day after the Banana incident, she asked me to try on my prom dress (!!!) and in the process, saw the bruise. She asked me what it was.
Now, I was in a real jam. If I told her it was a combat-boot mark from getting trampled in the mosh pit at the Electric Banana, where I wasn't supposed to be, I'd be in HUGE trouble. So instead, (not thinking clearly) I told her it was a hickey. DOH! Well, at least I was grounded for less time....
(But I did wear the dress, with fishnet tights and my combat boots, to the prom about a month later, in a brave move that landed me photographed in the yearbook....)