I remember being in junior high and kissing a boy on my friend’s bed for 3 hours. Three whole hours. No talking, just intense rhythmic french kissing. Then my mom would honk and I’d stand up, dizzy, both legs asleep, barely able to hobble out and climb in the van, careful to try and hide the rug burn around my mouth from the disgusting pre-teen mustache he was totally growing out.

I haven’t kissed like that in decades. Why don’t I kiss like that anymore? Why am I not kissed like that anymore? Not that I have 3 hours to spend swapping spit with a grown man with three kids, a job and a full DVR. I debate having enough time to wash my hands with soap or shave above my knees, the hell I have free kissing time.

But, I’m starting to miss it. We were at a Thai restaurant the other day and a couple near us were sitting on the same side of the table, which is something forbidden in my book. It not only looks ridiculous, but who wants to have to look sideways to have a one on one conversation with someone? I want to look you in the eyes, not the ear hole. Unless you’re giving a hand job under there, there’s no reason you can’t sit across from each other like a normal human couple. Anyways, the guilty same side sitters were splitting a plate of Pad Thai when every so often they’d stop chewing and full on french kiss. Instead of being grossed out or annoyed, I felt jealous.

Does this happen? Do you just, eventually, stop kissing? Is it just me? I mean, we still totally bang all the time, we just don’t kiss that much. I’m at the same functioning level as Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

Maybe it’s because I’ve become particularly grossed out by mouths in recent years. I now understand how germy they are, and I once saw a picture of a child’s skull that illustrated how the jaw looks with all the jacked up adult teeth lying in horrifying wait. Seriously, don’t google it, your genitals will never get hard again. Long story short, I think it’s natural to be hesitant to touch your tooth coffin to somebody else’s tooth coffin.

I’m also way less concerned about my breath throughout the day since Andy and I live together. He’s bound to be near me in the morning or after onions. But when we do kiss,  I just do that weird thing where I inhale my own breath while I kiss so that it doesn’t go in his mouth.

We kiss. I mean, we peck. Quick smacks before leaving each other or before bed. It’s automatic and routine and if not for the pokes from his beard, I’d may not entirely recall it happened. The same way you arrive somewhere but then can’t remember the drive and wonder how the hell you don’t recall driving a car. Same thing. If I had to sit back and tell you the last time I french kissed… I couldn’t. I simply don’t remember.

Is that normal? Does tongue end after 10 years of marriage? Do we just put our tongues other places now?

I am going to try and make it a point to french kiss Andy every day this week, which will elicit one of the following reactions:

  1. He thinks, FUCK YES.
  2. He thinks, what the fuck did you do?
  3. My kids see us and vomit everywhere.

All wins.

Facebook Comments