Do you kiss the opposite sex hello and goodbye?
This has been a confusing issue for me since my youth. Right up there with, “What do women really want?” and “What goes with brown socks?”
I was raised in a family that was far from touchy-feely. About as far as Michael Jackson is from an invitation to perform with the Vienna Boys Choir.
As a result, I never kissed my relatives hello or goodbye. Heck, I don’t think I even kissed my own mother until well into adulthood -- and then, only on the cheek.
Occasionally, I would find myself at a friend’s house where kissing was the norm. When family or friends would show up, the place would turn into an all-out kissing festival, with lips smacking everywhere you looked.
Oh, the humanity!
Of course, I would stand and watch with my mouth agog and a dazed expression on my face, not unlike how one might look if a group of extraterrestrials walked in and asked to use the bathroom. Then I would return home and shake hands with my visiting grandmother.
Now, as an adult, I continue to struggle with the issue of kissing as it relates to friends and acquaintances.
You know, there really should be some universal rules promulgated for guys like me -- with our lips hanging out there like a baboon’s derriere -- to rely upon in social settings. Instead, we are left to our own devices, a frightening thought if there ever was one.
For instance, the following are some questions of kissing etiquette and my unscientific guess as to the answers…
Question: When introduced to a new couple, is it ever proper for a guy to kiss the woman goodbye?
Answer: No -- especially if she’s more attractive than your wife.
Question: How long must one know another person before a kiss hello and goodbye is appropriate?
Answer: Again, it depends on the attractiveness of the person, as compared to your spouse. If you are a woman and the new male acquaintance is a dead ringer for Matthew McConaughey, the answer will probably contain the words “Hell” and “freezes over”.
Question: If a guy forgets to kiss a woman hello, is it acceptable to kiss her goodbye?
Answer: Probably not. Failing to kiss the woman hello may convert the relationship to kiss-free hug status. At this point, it is best to let the woman take the lead during the parting festivities.
Question: If you have been kissing a friend or relative only on the cheek, is it ever proper to kiss said person on the lips?
Answer: Only if he or she suddenly develops a rash on both cheeks. Then again, it may be safer still to utilize a pat-on-the-back until the rash responds to medical treatment.
Question: What should you do when you are about to greet someone with a kiss hello and notice a cold sore the size of Mount St. Helen’s on their lip?
Answer: Go into to immediate fake sneeze mode, blowing a phony sneeze into your hands and excusing yourself so that you can seek a Kleenex. Hopefully, the kissing festivities will be over by the time you return.
Question: If you are on a handshake and hug basis with another couple and one day the guy begins kissing your spouse hello and goodbye, must you follow suit with the gal?
Answer: Absolutely -- regardless of whether she has an active cold sore on her lip. After all, life is one giant competition, and we aren’t about to let another guy get the upper hand that easily. Even if it means contracting herpes.
Question: Is it ever permissible to open one’s mouth when kissing a friend or relative hello and goodbye?
Answer: No -- except in the event you have suddenly stopped breathing and require immediate resuscitation.
Judging by these answers, you can probably tell I have a few hangups when it comes to greeting friends and relatives. Okay, maybe more than a few.
So, if you happen to be a female acquaintance, do me a favor next time we meet -- please take the lead.
Copyright 2003 Marc L. Prey
All rights reserved.
Monday, March 17, 2003
Monday, March 10, 2003
Spare the belt, spoil the child?
Most people over the age of thirty have vivid memories of some form of corporeal punishment inflicted upon them by their parents during childhood.
In our house, the instrument of choice was the belt. But it was also much more than that.
If my brother or I stepped seriously out of line, we were ordered to go immediately to our parents’ closet and retrieve a belt. Once the belt had been delivered, we were made to bend over and succumb to an appropriate number of lashes, depending upon the severity of our infraction.
Of course, the worst part of this punishment was "The Walk" -- the journey to and from the closet. It amounted to an effective form of psychological torture, right up there with the time I informed my little brother he was adopted after previously replacing his birth certificate with homemade adoption papers.
So, after considerable practice, I developed the "medium slow" walk, meaning slow enough to buy some time in hopes that an interruption (the phone, the doorbell, the dog crapping on the carpet) might delay, and hopefully lessen the impact of, the inevitable. But not so slow as to increase the offended parent’s wrath.
I can remember a neighbor stopping by while I was on The Walk, then staying for more than an hour. Afterward, my mother decided to forgo the belt entirely, grounding me for the weekend instead. I felt so indebted to this neighbor, I vowed never again to egg her house on Devil’s Night.
Of course, I tried other tricks to lessen the severity of the belt. Especially if the parent giving the marching order was my heavy-handed father.
One evening I became distracted by a television show and forgot I had started running the bath. After it flooded both the bathroom and hallway, my father discovered the transgression and nearly blew a gasket (as well as a valve, seal and piston).
Knowing I was likely to receive a record number of lashes, I went to the closet and, eschewing the available selection of leather belts, picked out an especially nice-looking tie. Paisley, if I’m not mistaken.
Well, my father failed to see the humor in my selection. It was the first and only time he used a wet towel to dispense punishment. Afterward, I wished I had eschewed the comedy.
Following another screw up, I pulled out the belt from a terry-cloth bathrobe hanging in the closet. Of course, the belt was also terry-cloth.
Upon handing it to my mother, she burst into a series of uncontrollable guffaws. Once she had composed herself, she decided to let me off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist (literally). She also informed me that if I ever returned with the belt from her bathrobe again, she’d turn my case over to my father.
Shortly after meeting the woman who would eventually become my wife, we compared notes regarding our respective childhoods. When I told her about The Walk and the belt, she laughed.
Turns out, she was forced to retrieve a red slipper from her parents’ closet when she incurred their wrath. The red slipper had a hard rubber sole, so it quickly became a feared form of punishment in her house.
And then there was the pungent smell of the thing -- a mixture of dead toe skin, toe boogers and foot sweat -- something she claims she can still vividly recall to this day.
Still, like most people I know, my wife and I turned out okay in spite of (or, possibly, because of) the corporeal punishment we endured as children.
Which makes me wonder about how we are raising our two boys.
We agreed early on that we would forgo physical punishment, instead employing timeouts and the denial of privileges to deter undesirable behavior. It seems to be the preferred method of discipline in today’s society.
Yet, I often wonder how effective it truly is.
In fact, recently I had an opportunity to revisit the "old ways" when I caught my oldest son in a lie.
"Go to Mom and Dad’s closet and get me a belt," I ordered in a gruff voice.
"Why?" he inquired somewhat timidly.
"Because it’s time for a good old fashioned spanking with one of my belts."
He looked at me like my head had just separated from my body and begun spinning like a top.
"Go on…Now!"
Slowly, he began The Walk. Confused, scared, wishing he had simply had his Nintendo privileges revoked.
I started to feel really bad -- who was being punished here again?
After what seemed like a half-hour, he came trudging back. Like a prisoner headed for the guillotine.
As he approached, I saw it dangling from his right hand. Recognizable by its length and width, unmistakable in its pattern.
A paisley tie.
Copyright 2003 Marc L. Prey
All rights reserved.
In our house, the instrument of choice was the belt. But it was also much more than that.
If my brother or I stepped seriously out of line, we were ordered to go immediately to our parents’ closet and retrieve a belt. Once the belt had been delivered, we were made to bend over and succumb to an appropriate number of lashes, depending upon the severity of our infraction.
Of course, the worst part of this punishment was "The Walk" -- the journey to and from the closet. It amounted to an effective form of psychological torture, right up there with the time I informed my little brother he was adopted after previously replacing his birth certificate with homemade adoption papers.
So, after considerable practice, I developed the "medium slow" walk, meaning slow enough to buy some time in hopes that an interruption (the phone, the doorbell, the dog crapping on the carpet) might delay, and hopefully lessen the impact of, the inevitable. But not so slow as to increase the offended parent’s wrath.
I can remember a neighbor stopping by while I was on The Walk, then staying for more than an hour. Afterward, my mother decided to forgo the belt entirely, grounding me for the weekend instead. I felt so indebted to this neighbor, I vowed never again to egg her house on Devil’s Night.
Of course, I tried other tricks to lessen the severity of the belt. Especially if the parent giving the marching order was my heavy-handed father.
One evening I became distracted by a television show and forgot I had started running the bath. After it flooded both the bathroom and hallway, my father discovered the transgression and nearly blew a gasket (as well as a valve, seal and piston).
Knowing I was likely to receive a record number of lashes, I went to the closet and, eschewing the available selection of leather belts, picked out an especially nice-looking tie. Paisley, if I’m not mistaken.
Well, my father failed to see the humor in my selection. It was the first and only time he used a wet towel to dispense punishment. Afterward, I wished I had eschewed the comedy.
Following another screw up, I pulled out the belt from a terry-cloth bathrobe hanging in the closet. Of course, the belt was also terry-cloth.
Upon handing it to my mother, she burst into a series of uncontrollable guffaws. Once she had composed herself, she decided to let me off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist (literally). She also informed me that if I ever returned with the belt from her bathrobe again, she’d turn my case over to my father.
Shortly after meeting the woman who would eventually become my wife, we compared notes regarding our respective childhoods. When I told her about The Walk and the belt, she laughed.
Turns out, she was forced to retrieve a red slipper from her parents’ closet when she incurred their wrath. The red slipper had a hard rubber sole, so it quickly became a feared form of punishment in her house.
And then there was the pungent smell of the thing -- a mixture of dead toe skin, toe boogers and foot sweat -- something she claims she can still vividly recall to this day.
Still, like most people I know, my wife and I turned out okay in spite of (or, possibly, because of) the corporeal punishment we endured as children.
Which makes me wonder about how we are raising our two boys.
We agreed early on that we would forgo physical punishment, instead employing timeouts and the denial of privileges to deter undesirable behavior. It seems to be the preferred method of discipline in today’s society.
Yet, I often wonder how effective it truly is.
In fact, recently I had an opportunity to revisit the "old ways" when I caught my oldest son in a lie.
"Go to Mom and Dad’s closet and get me a belt," I ordered in a gruff voice.
"Why?" he inquired somewhat timidly.
"Because it’s time for a good old fashioned spanking with one of my belts."
He looked at me like my head had just separated from my body and begun spinning like a top.
"Go on…Now!"
Slowly, he began The Walk. Confused, scared, wishing he had simply had his Nintendo privileges revoked.
I started to feel really bad -- who was being punished here again?
After what seemed like a half-hour, he came trudging back. Like a prisoner headed for the guillotine.
As he approached, I saw it dangling from his right hand. Recognizable by its length and width, unmistakable in its pattern.
A paisley tie.
Copyright 2003 Marc L. Prey
All rights reserved.
