The Teenage Boy’s 21st

I really hate waking up smelly, it’s pretty much the worst thing in the world to me. I don’t mind so much if the person next to me stinks as long as I don’t. However, the problem is usually, when I’ve been having a good night the night before I’ve either been drinking and/or having cigars or I’ve been hanging out with people who smoked. Either way I don’t smell pretty. This is probably why I love coconut oil after washing – I mean genuine medical reason for applying it but if even soap and water can’t remove the stench of a good night out at last the coconut oil masks it.

Last night, as evidenced by the amount I smell of coconut right now, was a good night. It was the Teenage Boy’s 21st…and no until another nickname presents itself he will remain The Teenage Boy. It amuses me. There was wine, there were cigars, there was conversation and a lot of laughter. It was a good night out.

For a formerly rabid anti-smoker I do love cigars rather too much, the problem is I can’t smoke them, I’m not only a formerly rabid anti-smoker I’m also an asthmatic. Years ago M-i-L came up with a solution to this problem – hold the smoke in her mouth, place her lips to mine, breathe the smoke into my mouth. It works wonderfully well. Alas, times move on though and there are very few people who are comfortable with this level of intimacy around cigar smoke. Alas, FJ and I are lovers no more, and this week I realised that this potentially cuts off my delicious cigar smoke. Well, lovers no more I can live with but no more delicious cigars?
So, I’ve declared it doesn’t count as kissing to pass me cigar smoke, this was not believed last night but I was left reflecting that absolutely no one around me had any comprehension of the knee-weakening power of being actually kissed by FJ (M-i-L wasn’t in evidence). After the cigar-smoke was passed I was perfectly upright and lacking in swoon, able to enjoy the taste of the cigar, yet still the crowds bayed that clearly it was a kiss.

Now, The Girl With Golden Hair was there, and I admit she possibly does have a problem with my saying that it’s the passion that makes a kiss, simply putting ones lips to anothers does not. Because of course I claim that she kissed me back in January. However, when the function of a kiss is a kiss then it is a kiss, when the function of placing lips together is not a kiss, when it lacks the basic passion of a kiss, when, in short it doesn’t feel like a kiss – it’s not a kiss.

I may be describing this overly much.

My favourite part of the evening was the Girl With Golden Hair getting the Teenage Boy to compare boob sizes…hers and mine…with his hands. I don’t think I’ve ever won a boob size competition before, but then I hadn’t gained all this weight the last time someone groped my boobs and someone elses for the purpose of deciding who’s were bigger. The Teenage Boy did his apprehensive thing of course before plunging in with a grin. Happy 21st birthday.

I’m feeling happily mauled right about now, that sort of thing needs to happen to me more often…again. Nothing is as good for the self-esteem as a public groping with your friends looking on and cheering. Is it possible I’m not having a normal reaction to this?

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