(Harry Nilsson reference)
I cannot kiss. It is true.
I cannot kiss.
I cannot make the smooching sound, I cannot pucker up and plant one, I cannot kiss.
I cannot whistle either, and I used to be a danged good whistler. But that is not as big as not being able to kiss. Everyone should be able to kiss, and I cannot kiss.
Whatever they did to me that first go-round, they took away my ability to kiss.
I have tried to kiss my grandson, and I cannot do it. I purse my lips, I move them, and suddenly I realize that I cannot kiss him. I can slobber on him. I can touch his soft sweet face with my lips, for sure, and I have. But I cannot kiss him.
I should work on it.
In the meantime, I am very lucky.
When my wife and I started hanging out together, if you know what I mean and I think you do, I advised her that she did not know how to kiss. Like a great number of people, I suspect, she kissed in a hard, closed-lip fashion. We worked on that and we corrected it.
(Am I anal or what?)
A kiss, in my opinion, then and now, should be soft, succulent, receiving and giving. Corrine was a quick study.
So was my wife.
JUST JOKING! Corrine is my wife.
The thing is, we can kiss. It is because she is succulent, receiving, and giving. I am not trying to be erotic here, although I am about to leave this paragraph in mid-sentence and run off to bed!
Isn’t that amazing though? We can kiss. I cannot even kiss my own grandson, not really, but every time I kiss my wife, I know that it is a real kiss, and I feel it, and I savor it, and I know that I am a part of it. And I know that it is because I taught her how to kiss.
That sounds funny. I know. But no one kisses like her. Well, I mean, probably :).