Legally kissable
PLEASE note that I am again legally kissable since charges against one of our political leaders have been dropped. What a relief!
The prospect of copping a kiss from a person of remotely romantic interest may appear to have passed me by. But it shouldn't mean it becomes a matter of illicit osculation.
I supposed the lifted restrictions means I too can do public kissing without committing an illegal act.
But don't take things too far. A slip of the lip can land you in really serious trouble and parents take strongly against demonstrations of young love.
When I was young, we already had motor cars and aircraft, but they both moved slower than they do now. Falling in love at a snail's pace was also something that was strongly advised by vigilant parents. The older the child the stronger the advice.
It was not the kissing that was objectionable, it was who with.
You were not only allowed, but expected, to kiss your aunties and people who came into the "great" catergory (uncle, grandpa, married cousins etc) bracket. The older the greater, and sometimes more whiskery.
Elderly aunts, who indulge nephews and nieces with great affection, super new clothes and the latest new fad in toys, mostly seek only a reciprocal hug and peck on the cheek.
Situations and circumstances that suggest inappropriate kissing are, for instance, in the back of the school bus. I was never a 'bus line' child, I mostly had to walk or ride my bike, so I didn't know too much about that.
But I remember a piece by a clever and talented academic at USP that involved a discussion between a girl and her classmate who was pointing out a boy in another seat.
"He my boyfriend," said the girl, with a toss of her curls. "Oh yeah. He know you're his girlfriend?" asked the classmate.
I remember far enough back to recall the agonies of unrequited love which never even remotely approached kissing. Also the terror of recognizing the sort of person you just knew your mother would definitely not want you to talk to at the bus stop.
Coming home with more change than expected was absolutely nothing to do with talking to boys or the nice old neighbour named Theophilus.
I used to find the coins dropped in the bare sandy patch around the bus stop where early morning commuters had no time to find dropped fares.
Women in 'going to town' outfits had no interest in or time for little girls who were hoping to find enough to get an icy pop. I was trained in honesty well enough to at least offer my find to other people at the stop.
Only occasionally did someone snatch it on the claim they had dropped it themselves.
None of this whoop-de-do was of interest to those of kissing or kissable age, it appeared. Much later, but still the same street a boy from my school tried to extract a kiss as a toll for walking me from my friend's place.
You need to know that I was not a juvenile Marilyn Monroe, or anything near to resembling such.
I warned him not to, that it was inappropriate and I might end up smacking him, but he wasn't to be discouraged. I can't imagine he was a sex maniac because I wasn't that sort of material, even I could understand that. But suddenly he grabbed me and planted a kiss.
He let me go almost immediately while I tried to explain that I had serious sunburn sores from beaching all weekend and my mother had smeared my mouth with something horrible called zinc cream that swimmers and beachniks wore. (Not my mother, she was dark and thought I would just brown up in time. Nor those with an Irish granny, it appears.)
Kissing I consider hugely inappropriate is a sloppy sort meted out by the dog waiting for me at the top of the steps to come home, as my face rises far enough for it to reach.
It was quite some time in my youth before I got a seriously good kiss. I should at least be able to treasure the prospect of another one. Even if it is unlikely to happen at this great age.
■ SEONA SMILES is a regular contributor. The views expressed by her are not necessarily shared by this newspaper.