Every girl's got to kiss a lot of frogs before she finds her prince.
For the past 12 years or so... I've been doing my share of lipping up to toad, after toad, after toad in search of that one great knight masquerading as an amphibious creature.
So far, no such luck.
Years ago I wouldn't have given a passing thought when puckering up to someone. Heck, I look back fondly on a night long ago when I racked up over 20 kisses (For good reason too. It was the night of UK's national championship win in '98). But as of late, I've become a bit more discriminating about whom I kiss, and I even feel a little guilty for locking lips.
A quick spin through the World Wide Web, and you'll find some sites that define kissing as a physical representation of generosity and affection. Check. Another place defines it as affectionate play (or foreplay without contact with the genital organs). Check. One dating website says there are actually different types of kisses: a friendship kiss, a passionate kiss and a deep kiss (which apparently differ from the previous example).
Virtualkiss.com says kissing triggers special chemicals inside, including one such hormone that gives us that tingly-good-all-over feeling.
Now, what's so bad about that?
I'm all about feeling good, especially when there's so much in this world that can make a person feel down in the dumps. For some reason though, I keep getting more prude the older I get.
What? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?
It seems like my life is operating on some kind of Bell Curve where my promiscuity peaked around 25 or so. Over time I've started leaning towards more conservative clothing that covers me up (well, except for that September trip to Vegas) and have scaled down my more amorous attitude. I'm happy to be called The Good Girl and stand firm by my discerning tastes, but now I practically start picking out wedding china when I kiss a guy.
Image courtesy of China Etc.
I suppose there's a part of me that wants to reserve that kind of intimate contact for a special person. The wild side of me retorts "C'mon, Kate. It's only kissing. Even that doesn't warrant a confession at church."
So, my friends. Am I crazy? Is this whole demure, virginesque thing that's come over me TOTALLY bonkers? Should I love and let love, kissing madly with reckless abandon? Should I throw caution to the wind and keep the Chap Stick near by, or should I stick with my timidity and apprehension where my expressions of affection are concerned?