The Best Kind Of Kisses

(I’m 20 years old and a shrimp of a guy — about five-foot-six and 120 pounds soaking wet. I’ve gone on two dates with my girlfriend, but we haven’t yet kissed. She lives with her parents and wants me to meet them, so I come over for dinner.)

Girlfriend: “Hi! Come on in and I’ll introduce you.”

(I step inside the house and enter the living room. My attention is drawn to the enormous dog sitting on the rug, wagging his tail. This dog has to outweigh me by 50 pounds, minimum. My girlfriend’s dad is scratching the dog’s head.)

Girlfriend: “Oh, that’s Bucky. Bucky, say hi!”

Bucky: “Woof!”

Me: “Hi there, pup!”

(Seeing a new, friendly-looking human, Bucky bounds over to me and jumps up, trying to lick my face. I get knocked down, and the next instant, I’m lying on my back with Bucky happily slobbering all over my face. I think I might drown in drool.)

Girlfriend: “So much for me being the first member of the family to kiss you.”

(I married my girlfriend a year later. Bucky and I were besties until Bucky died of old age about ten years after I met him.)