Apparently, there are at least a few good reasons, and, like a good ending, I won't spoil it by telling you what they are. Just google 'why french kiss'.
Or, if you want to be really adventuresome, (and have some time to kill), look it up on a public computer and leave the tab open. Then, as inconspicuously as possible, sit close by with a newspaper stuck in front of your face, poke two little eyeholes in it, and spy.
If that's too inconvenient, (where after all do you get a newspaper nowadays, and not to mention very conspicuous), pretend to text. Your mission is to escape detection.
(Now, I bet you googled it before continuing to read this blog. Couldn't wait, huh? Heh, heh.)
Back at the public computer, however, the subject of your surveillance will be wondering who on earth would bother to look up 'why french kiss' and has come to the conclusion that it must have been the teeny-boppers congregating at the far end of the library, or internet cafe.
"How fortunate for them to have this information so readily at their disposal!" the unsuspecting subject thinks with kindly amusement...or so you hope.
Your foray into the world of black op will end here because before you know it 'french kiss' has you on a clandestine mission to memory land.Back, back, back you go into the annals of your past, and dig up the memory of your very first ever french kiss.
How was it?
YUK!? or WOW!?
I have to admit I remember the kiss but not the name of the boy who kissed me. I even remember the place. This might give you a hint as to how I'd rate my first ever french kiss. Ok, that's a spoiler. But I'd rather lavish ink on describing how it came about...
The year - 1968.
Our rendezvous location was picked by my best friend that year. The boy she was to 'hook up with', (to use today's apropos vernacular), was a friend of my soon-to-be personal tour guide into the world of kissing.
The anticipation was driving me crazy.
My friend's name was Linda Greene. She was 5'2", with a cute little pug nose and a smattering of freckles. Her eyes were not blue, but brown, which she loved due to the popularity of Van Morrison's song: "My Brown-Eyed Girl." Linda had very long eye lashes and to make them 'curly', used an eyelash curler, which I detested, because it gave her cause to flirt by batting her eyes.
She once asked, "If you could only have one article of make-up, what would it be?"
"Lipstick," I replied without hesitation.
"Oh, no, no, no! Mascara!" she said with the sound judgment of a worldly fourteen year old. "You should always pick mascara!"
"Why?"
She responded with a batting of the eyes.
Linda arranged for us to meet the two boys out in front of the local movie theater. We were not yet allowed to date, so our plans were made in secret...and in broad daylight. This posed a big problem for our covert operation into the risqué world of grown-ups. But she solved this readily by leading us to the sylvan back side of a local sanitarium for the mentally ill.
It was always like this - Linda furtively lead into unexplored worlds, and I, for better or for worse, followed.
When we reached our destination she commanded me and 'my' boy,
"Go over there!" and pointed down the narrow width of sidewalk where heavy brush was encroaching. I knew she meant, keep your distance, but don't stray too far. We had previously agreed this was to be a safe trial run, should either boy get too carried away, we would have each other's back.
"Ok", I responded shakily. Anticipation had eroded into anxiety, and yet I remained resolutely determined.
The boy and I squared off facing each other. I noticed we were about the same height. As if on cue, we each tilted our heads to our right and, in an effort to avoid further embarrassment, quickly locked lips. And then it happened...the french kiss.
I pulled back within the space of a second, leaving him stranded with tongue sticking out in mid air.
Then...I ran away...which meant Linda had to decide whether to follow me or continue smooching with her willing participant.
I wish I could remember what she did, but I think I suffered my first episode of PTSD....
But it does beg the question - had Google existed in 1968, and I knew then what I know today, might I have been better prepared to stick it out a bit longer?
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