It is not nice to know what someone else thinks you want to hear when being kissed, especially when it is so spectacularly off the mark. Granted, I was kissed by the wrong person. Was kissed, was kissing? Whichever makes me feel better.
A great big crescendo to the offending phrase. Stopped under a lamppost, wrapped in his jacket, his hands finding the curves of my cheeks to cup me like a bowl, like Please sir may I have some more? Great big knitted eyebrows, and then all earnestness: You're the smartest person I know.
Kneejerk: fucking obviously.
And then walking home (alone), stewing: is that my defining quality? Or is that what he thinks I want to hear? Both? Did the word pretty get stuck in his throat somehow? I know I'm not that smart at all, really. Didn't I always say I wanted a man who, you know, 'respected my intellect' oh ho ho ho.
But he finds me smart the way a toddler finds a wendyhouse big, sorry. There's no meeting of minds when we meet mouths (far too rushed and aggro too, by the way).
The whole ordeal, I replaced him with every man in my acquaintance, trying them all on for size, who would I actually want here? What would I want to hear?
Maybe I haven't met the next person to kiss me, and maybe I won't mind whatever comes out of their mouth. I don't think all kissing should be done in silence, but think the general principle of 'if you don't have anything nice to say...' goes.
I had plenty time to spiral on this, being infected with severe tonsillitis, biological retribution for poor decision making. If it was in a book I'd say that's a pretty laborious metaphor. When my throat was so tight I couldn't swallow my own saliva, and was left constantly dribbling out of the corner of my mouth for days, I didn't feel smart I can tell you.
