Friday, February 26, 2010


One of my more stinging dating memories took place about 4 years ago, in the front seat of my date's car, parked outside my apartment: the end of a date coming at the end of a perilous, brief, non-relationship. Drama ran high on both sides of the gearshift.

While discussing said end, I compelled myself across for a kiss of despair (not visually unlike Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling in The Notebook) to which he initially responded .... and then pulled back, not unkindly, but wincing slightly.
"Shhh," he said, cradling my cheeks with his hands. "You're kissing me so hard it hurts."
Oy. She's an emotional wreck. And then she's a lousy kisser.

(I think I might have even run dramatically from the premises, too.)

Since then, as you know, I've had a lot more dates. And a lot more kisses. Which means ....

.... anyway, it's been an interesting week in my world. A non-date on Wednesday that ended with a 15-minute kiss, standing on the sidewalks of our fair city's downtown. Followed by an impromptu date-date Thursday that included easily 45 minutes of kissing that was slow, fast and every speed in-between

I enjoyed each one of those minutes. No wincing. No desire for them to end. And while I vouch that both gentlemen were, in their own rights, skilled at their task (and they most certainly were) .... well, one does not kiss a girl for 45 straight minutes unless that girl is also doing her job.

Just saying .... it's been nice to find at least one benefit to all this dating practice.

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