Inappropriate Touching

I had a quite entertaining phone conversation with Regan the other night. What did we talk about? After catching up on the minutiae of our working lives we talked about boys, of course.

"Dude, I've met someone," she said.

"Really, who? And where?"

"We met at a coffee shop and then I went on a date with him. I really like him."

"Tell me about him!"

"A semi-retired tech guy, nice house, does photography for a hobby, and is an Iron Man triathlete. Can you Google him? You don't think he's a stalker, do you?"

So while I was Googling and reading New Boyfriend's marathon and triathlon stats to her while trying to stifle my laughter over her stalker concerns, I asked her one more crucial question.

"So, Regs, is he a good kisser?"

"Oh.... my.... gosh..... yes. And he doesn't make me itch."

"Uh, what?"

"He doesn't make me itch!"

"What do you mean, itch?" I asked.

"You know, when a guy kisses you and then your face itches? I mean, I'm like, dude, I just put foundation on and now it's flaking. That's not cool."

Thus began a conversation about unnecessary kissing, inappropriate touching and personal space invaders. Regan lives much of the time in Italy where she encounters people who constantly want to kiss on both cheeks and touch entirely too much for our more staid American upbringing. It bothers her that people constantly kiss her, leaving stringy drool stains on her cheeks, and I don't blame her.

"I mean, seriously, is it necessary to constantly kiss everyone? It's just so.... gross! Unhygienic or something," she groaned.

Our conversation reminded me of my own thoroughly unpleasant encounters with saliva-ridden kisses, inappropriate touching and personal space invading during my marriage to Ex.

Ex's family, being from a foreign culture, had a habit of always kissing on both cheeks and touching inappropriately even if you had never met the person before. Literally, I would witness his family members meeting someone on the street for the first time, and while still holding the person's right hand in the handshake, planting wet kisses on each cheek of the newfound acquaintance. I have nothing at all against other cultures' practices, but I'm originally from the northeast. We don't do that there. Ever.

I told Regan that I knew with great pain exactly what she was talking about and could actually one-up her on that score. During the first month that Ex and I were married, we had Christmas at his aunt's house. I walked into the house when his aunt, whom I'd not met until that time, opened the door and I was immediately barraged with wet kisses on both of my cheeks. In and of itself, that wasn't so bad despite my surprise at the kissing thing, but what followed truly horrified me. As I entered the front hallway, Ex's aunt put her hand on my uterus. My uterus!

She exclaimed, "You too skinny! Are you pregnant yet? I know my brother wants to be grandpa!"

I froze in awe-struck shock. Not only was I just one month into the already deteriorating marriage, but I have never wanted children and a strange, beehive-haired woman had her hand dangerously close to The Goods and I was still wiping saliva off of my face, bringing along with it my makeup. In retrospect, I believe that I must have stood there with my jaw literally hanging open as I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand because the aunt looked at me with what I can only guess was suspicious consternation and meandered off to the kitchen, never to speak to me again during the evening (except when I almost shattered her ice bucket, but that's another story).

Later in the relationship, I was forced to go to a holiday BBQ at Ex's parents' house. The home was filled with random people I'd never met, but all were apparently relatives. I was inevitably the odd person out at these gatherings because I didn't speak their language, so I usually sat at the kitchen table alone and waited the day out. At this particular gathering, one of Ex's many cousins came over and sat with me. After the unavoidable sloppy kiss on each cheek, she put her hand on my stomach and admonished, "You have been married way too long to not have baby. Why you no have baby? You have problem with plumbing?"

"I don't want a baby." I was too astonished to even address the plumbing comment.

At this revelation, she practically fainted. "How you don't want baby? Every woman want baby! Look at my beautiful baby here. He's three months. Isn't he most gorgeous thing you ever see?"

I'm pretty sure that my attempt at an "I like babies" face fell flat.

Later in the marriage, I attended one of Ex's family functions in which his grandmother approached me. Obligatory wet kisses ensued, after which she grabbed my right boob and, manipulating it while I was sewn to the floor in shock, announced, "Is good for to make milk for baby."

I told Regan these stories on the phone as she laughed uproariously and said, "Shut up! You're making this up!"

File this under I Couldn't Make This Up if I Tried, because it's all true. When Regan soon returns to Italy and faces the inevitable kissing onslaught, I hope she remembers that at least she isn't getting felt up by New Boyfriend's family for baby making potential. Wiping a bit of drool off of your cheek? Child's play. Graciously excusing yourself when your in-laws are your personal space invaders with a penchant for grabbing your baby maker? That takes some skill.