Anäis Nin once wrote, “Kisses are like almonds.”
I have no idea what she meant by that—unless she meant kisses should be small and nutty and taste awesome covered in chocolate. But since the woman spent her life writing about kisses, I’ll wager she knew a thing or two. I have not ever written about kisses until now, but I have done a fair amount of kissing in my time.
I am thankful for kisses. Kisses are small things, to be sure, but oh so important. I wouldn’t want to live my life without them. Life in single-girl-world means sometimes spending weeks or months without so much as a single peck.
There are different types of kisses and different types of kissers. A quick Google search of kissing will turn up hundreds of websites devoted to types and tips and how-to’s.
Think back to the best kisser you’ve ever known. Perhaps that person is your spouse, or a lost love of long ago; or maybe the best kisser was that stranger on New Year’s whom you spent a mere two minutes with. It doesn’t matter who your best kiss was with, but I’ll bet you are thankful for that moment.
The kiss is sometimes a thing we look most forward to. My best guy friend recently had a first date with a hot Boulder doctor. The date went great, until the kissing part came.
“Maybe you’re a good kisser and she’ll be a fast learner,” I said, trying to comfort him during our post-date pep talk.
“I dunno,” he responded. “It’s real bad. It’s like a horse eating an apple.”
I’ve also known bad kissers. I’ve shared moments with “washing machine” kissers who slobbered all over my face and chin. I dated a boy in high-school who was a “chicken” kisser—he’d lunge forward with quick, piercing pecks, like my lips were bits of corn feed. Then there are the “vacuum” kissers, who Hoover through the mouth with such force I’ve feared for the safety of my teeth. Still, I am just as thankful for those bad kisses because they taught me to appreciate the good ones.
I have learned how I felt about someone just in the way I kiss them, and have in turn learned their feelings for me. A few years ago, I was dating a Perry Farrell look-a-like who unexpectedly kissed me goodbye by planting a soft, sweet kiss. On my forehead. In one motion, he had clarified our relationship—it was going nowhere—and less than a week later he was gone from my life.
The kiss is something we often take for granted, until we miss it.
Take my friend, Ginger [not her real name]. When we were in college at CU there were young men to be found at parties every weekend. Recently she recounted the tale of one such party. It had gotten late and was time to go.
“But I haven’t kissed anyone yet!” she bemoaned.
“Will someone make out with Ginger so we can leave?” her male body guard and buddy pleaded to the party.
Cue the line of men. Six or seven of them.
“So who’d you pick?” I asked.
“Oh, I kissed all of them.” She said, “And the last one was the best kisser. I was annoyed I didn’t start there.” She paused. “I miss college sometimes,” she said.
But it’s not the parties she misses. It’s the opportunity for kisses.
–by Leah M. Charney
Charney is sassy yet classy and always up for a good kiss.
Appeared in Women’s Magazine, November 2009.