warning: this post is about kissing. don't blush, mom.

Sometimes I feel like G doesn’t hear the things I say. Don’t get me wrong, he does as well as most husbands probably do, but sometimes I am almost positive he is just nodding his head & pumping his fist in the air at the appropriate times. And most of the time, I really don’t care. You see, I like to talk. I like to over-analyze every single thought I have. I like to vocalize every random thought I’m having, and believe me, people, my thoughts are RANDOM.

Just last night, in the middle of dinner I blurted out, “Isn’t it just the worst when people are horrible kissers?!”

Crickets.

Crickets.

He didn’t have a clue how to respond to that comment & I couldn’t figure out why in the world I had decided that was a good thought to share. “Where did that come from??” he asked (as he always does). And I had to explain how a blog had lead to website, lead to a comment, lead to a conversation, lead to another conversation in which we were discussing our worst kisses of all time & how I was still dry-heaving over mine, hours later.

Luckily, my husband knows me by now. And these completely irrelevant snippets flying in from left-field don’t seem to bother him much. So we sat at our dinner table & described our worst kisses of all time & laughed about the awkwardness of both. I can still remember mine…every excruciating detail and I can still remember the way I hoped and prayed it would end sooner rather than later.

Next, G told me about his. He tried to explain the way Ms. X moved her lips, but I wasn't getting it. G finally insisted on showing me exactly how Ms. X kissed him all those years ago. And as his bad demonstration morphed into a smooch from my husband, I was just happy to be with someone who knows exactly how I like to be kissed.