V18 N35

The Old Fogey
Ah, those good old Cape May days... by Jackson D’Catur
Iam not sure about The Mistletoe. On the
one hand, it encourages spontaneous
smooching, which I am all for. But on
the other hand, it makes one the object
of spontaneous kissing, which I am not
all for, unless I can vet the would-be kissers.
Of course, back in MY day, kissing was
something that took place only after one had
known a young lady or gentleman for at least
15 years, and was pre-arranged for a public
place at exactly noon, with a dozen chaperones
in each camp, and a sworn-in witness
from either the judiciary or constabulary on
hand to ensure no boundaries were crossed.
And that kiss had to be no longer than one and
a half seconds, with one’s tongue protruding
from the SIDE of one’s mouth at all times so
that witnesses could be sure that nothing
“French” or otherwise untoward was going
on. And a gentleman had to be very careful
that his kisses were not so potent so as to
make a lady swoon from excitement, nor so
powerful that she had the air sucked from her
lungs and subsequently passed out.
All of that changed, of course, in the time
of Free Love, and in our city’s Cape Gay era.
Back in those days, one was lucky to receive
a kiss as a hasty fare-thee-well token as one’s
paramour du jour left in the morning, both
parties unsure of the other’s identity or even
gender, for that matter.
Of course I was an expert kisser, being
possessed of naturally strong lips and having
spent a college gap year as the only male
under the age of 50 (I was 17) at an all-girl’s
horseback-riding school in the Swiss Alps.
I swear, by evening I was oft so exhausted
from locking lips that it was all I could do to
lie down on the grass and, as I slept, various
young ladies would kiss my upturned mouth,
which still had enough instinctive kissing
ability that the sound of their hearts thumping
would sometimes wake me.
Still, I was not unhappy to have the art
of kissing more regulated, so that I was able
to enjoy a simple walk through our fair city
without being pounced upon (I had no time
for this nonsense unless it was by the Late
Mrs D’Catur, who had such passion for me
that if I was gone for more than an hour, she
would upon my return spring on me like a
tiger).
And so I am vaguely in favor of mistletoe,
in that if I can see it in the room, and ensure
there are none of those sorts of ninnies present
who tape a sprig to their hat and prowl
around looking foolish and puckered, then I
can pick my moment to enjoy a peck on the
lips. I am off to apply lip balm and prepare
myself for your attentions…
November 26, 2020 EXIT ZERO Page 35