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(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!

No.

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 :).

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