One Last Kiss

When I was growing up, my mother wanted me to date more.

Not that she wanted me to be a floozy...she just didn't want me to fall for one guy and get "stuck" at a young age.

She was married to my stepfather, and I knew how their relationship was, so I adamantly refused to take love life advice from her. Sometimes, though, I wish that I had listened.

I did tend to fall for just one guy...I never dated around. I thought I was fat. (And I was, but it wasn't fatal.) I was terrible at choosing, too. I picked the one that hit me. The one that never respected me. The one who hurt me time and time again.

Since I didn't date a lot of boys, I didn't kiss a lot of boys, either. Unfortunately, I can count on one hand the number I've kissed. (God, is that pathetic? I guess I'd never thought of it like that before.)

Don't get me wrong. The Hubster is a great kisser. But we're married. We have jobs, and kids, and a home to take care of. We don't waste much time just kissing. (Because when we do, it tends to lead to other things!)

I don't know why I'm so hung up on kissing...probably because I'm sick and haven't been doing much kissing of anyone lately.

I do wish I had kissed more boys. It's weird, I know, but I do.