PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Like most people, I remember my first kiss like it was yest-ok, three months ago. I have to admit, my memory and brain get a little foggier each year. But still. I remember what I wore, where it happened, so many details, and the biggest detail of all was how AWFUL it was.

I met my quasi-boyfriend after school, skipping the yearbook meeting I was supposed to be attending. Keep in mind this is 1983, as I describe my outfit, picked out especially for the occasion. Gold metallic cotton-blend tunic. Turquoise blue knickers. I am seriously waiting for the knicker comeback. We met -this is extremely romantic- at the cemetary just behind the Lutheran church. I have no idea who's headstone we ended up at, I was just so excited to finally get to kissin'.

Unfortunately, this young man must have learned how to kiss from his dog. I had so much of his saliva all over the lower half of my face, I was completely grossed out & convinced that kissing had been extremely overrated by my friends. I kept sneaking big wipes across my face with my hand every time he'd look up & check to make sure we weren't seen. Then, the pastor for the church pulled into the parking lot, and we froze, panicked about being caught. He went inside the church, and we got back to, well, he got back to lapping at my face like an enthusiastic bassett hound. I pretty much had had it at that point, and we parted ways shortly after that.

The good news is, I also remember my first kiss with my husband, if not more vividly (and it was only about 7 years ago, not 23). I practically had to hit him over the head with a club, he was so nervous about not being able to read signals and didn't want to make a wrong move. I remember what I wore, the temperature, the light from the streetlamp, the noise of traffic, every moment. And the best news is, he doesn't kiss like a bassett hound. :)