How To Get Out of a Kiss You’re Regretting (no really, someone please tell me)

Twatface had just broken up with me (see post ‘So…I Got Dumped’ to feel sorry for me and better about yourself), which left me in a blind and very pathetic wave of desperation. To appease this self-loathing, I went over to my friend’s house (we shall refer to him as Squishy and that will be his name). Did I mention that Squishy is Twatface’s best friend? And I only just met Squishy through Twatface? No, I didn’t mention it? Oh, well that’s probably because I didn’t want you to know that I’m a terrible person. But now that that cat’s out of the bag, we can proceed with complete, deprecating honesty. I was at Squishy’s house. In his garage. Squishy was drinking. I was 100%, agonizingly sober. Squishy professed feelings, I awkwardly sideswiped them with some stupid and transparent line like “Haha oh man you’re just a kick in the pants”. Squishy went for the kiss and I had one of those moments where time doesn’t slow down because time has never felt like it’s slowed down for me. So time is going on as it usually does and Squishy is clearly trying to get at my smackers and I have a decision to make. Do I fend off this sweet little Squishy and make him feel bad for all of eternity, or do I decide to take a chance and let him do his thing? I took the chance. And why? Because I’m nice. Too nice. In fact, I’m so nice my mom says I will soon be a victim because I won’t want to hurt the creepy-guy-in-the-park’s feelings by refusing to help him look for his puppy.

The kiss felt like those times I used to make out with my forearm to practice my kissing skills. No feeling, just weird preteen saliva. Squishy was really going at it, eyes closed, head moving from side to side, tongue doing some weird beached whale maneuver (soon to be featured in an upcoming blog post!). And then there was me. Eyes wide open, brain racing to think of an escape route, mouth just kind of accepting the things that were happening to it. I couldn’t just pull away and say what I was feeling. Like I said, I’m too nice. I needed a much more elaborate, passive aggressive, and ultimately more hurtful way to go about things. Damn my niceness, it’s making me mean! My ears were on full alert, listening for the slightest noise that could warrant a quick withdraw from our embrace with a “What was that noise?”, which would flawlessly morph into “Look at the time, I shall be leaving now.”

Squishy stopped for a moment to inquire, “Do you like kissing me?” Which now I realize would have been the perfect time to say, “Actually, now that you ask…” Hindsight’s a bastard in 20/20. I just couldn’t do it! I couldn’t crush Squishy’s ego, with his big hipster glasses and puppy dog eyes. So I opted to not really say anything and he took that as a “Please kiss me more.” I ended up being so subtle in my escape that I sat there, a receptacle to his tongue, for five minutes. Five painstaking minutes, ten abandoned plans, and seven inches of scooching backwards later, I finally got a chance to speak. “I don’t want to fall asleep while driving. So, I should go.” I smiled and laughed awkwardly and shuffled backwards all the way to my car. Squishy followed me. ALL THE WAY TO MY CAR. And kissed me again. Holy cheeseballs, I really need to grow a pair.

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