Saturday, March 13, 2010

Kiss Me Once, Don't Kiss Me Twice

In the past month or so, I’ve been greeted by a few too many double-cheek kissers. I have a lot of pet peeves and double-cheek kissing probably falls within my top 50. It’s even worse than being winked at – at least the winking is perpetrated from a respectable distance.

After all these years, I never see the double-cheek kiss coming. I always end up prematurely pulling away, and then the unnecessary awkwardness of that greeting ends up putting a pall over the rest of the session.

Another one of my chief pet peeves is having to deal with posers – people who go out of their way pretending to be something they’re not, all for image and effect. Pseudo sucks. None of my recent overzealous kiss dealers are French or from French-speaking countries, nor have they ever spent more than a combined total of a few weeks on the continent of Europe. They’re not from any other country at all. They’re Americans, as are their parents and spouses. So where is this coming from, and why? If they’ve got to pose as some kind of sophisticates, why can’t they just do so with their close friends, or relatives, or household pets, or bathroom mirrors? I’ve always been a mere acquaintance to these people, and their unwarranted puckering up doesn’t make me want to take the relationship to the next level. In the words of one of my generation’s greatest poets (Eminem): “That type of shit’ll make me not want us to meet each other.” If you want to impress me with how refined and debonair you are, you’re better off presenting me with a really top-shelf bottle of wine or an oversized basket of cinnamon-infused gourmet baked goods.

If you’re that ravingly excited to see me (and most people really shouldn’t be), please just choose a cheek, any cheek. I’ll promise to meet you halfway.

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