Kissing? It’s the express lane to spit-swap city and cootie central, according to my kids.
The real danger, though, is catching a bad case of feelings.
Exacerbating that danger is the fact that somewhere in my heart lurks a hopeless romantic, a sneaky little love-cheerleader out of place in my otherwise pragmatic life. It’s the force advocating for late-night-romance-novel-reading sleep deprivation. And it’s a silent rebel stirred awake by the insanely hot voice of the guy next door.
Ive got that mushy part of myself locked down deep, nearly forgotten beneath my day job herding grown yet child-minded men who think the epitome of podcasting excellence is butt jokes, and actual child-wrangling at home.
But when my daughters prod me to kiss a bunny at the farmer’s market, I assume it’s harmless.
