On this chilly Wednesday afternoon (and inspired by teenagers), let’s have some girl talk…
Back in high school, I started hanging out with Dave, a blue-eyed guy in my chemistry class. He was funny and sweet, and we did the things that Michigan teenagers do: drive to Taco Bell, ride bikes around the neighborhood and go bowling with friends. I really liked him, and a kiss seemed imminent.
But instead of being over the moon, I was panicked. I was a card-carrying late bloomer and hadn’t kissed anyone, other than a peck. A champion overthinker, I couldn’t figure out the logistics. Where would his mouth go? Where would my mouth go? What was the plan for TONGUES?! In my bedroom, with pale green walls, I’d kiss my mirror to practice. My already-been-kissed twin sister reassured me that it would come naturally, but that was too vague. I needed specific directions, a game plan, a map!
Finally, one winter evening, Dave and I went to the movies to see Titanic, and Leo must have been the inspiration I needed. That night, after we drove home in Dave’s mom’s Honda Civic, I turned toward him in the front seat of the car and stopped talking. I just looked at him. And, finally, we kissed.
And spoiler alert: It was just fine.
How old were you when you had your first kiss? Was it sweet? Awkward? Terrible? I’d love to hear…
(Photo by Weegee/Arthur Fellig.)