Remember your first kiss?

Well, how can I forget? That's what Jens Lekman was singing on the car cd player while I was taking Bighead to the airport, and she asked me if I remember my first kiss. Of course I do, since it was accompanied by a marriage proposal.

I was seven years old and the love object of nine year old Raymond Elovitz, our next door neighbor. He used to ring the doorbell and ask "Can Bawheesha come play?". He looked like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals. When he kissed me right under the kitchen window and asked me to marry him, I said yes. It might interfere with my plan to become a nun (how many of you are laughing at that one), but he was so sweet and sincere.

Sadly, he was also ill and fragile and died on an operating table at Mt. Sinai Hospital while doctors were trying to correct a heart defect. Thus ended my potential life as the suburban New Jersey wife of a dry cleaning business heir, sigh.

Maybe Raymond and I would have grown apart; maybe the whole catholic/jewish thing would've become a problem. Who knows? What about you? Do you remember your first kiss? Where would you be if your first kiss had, for lack of a better word, stuck?

In other news, it's a cold turkey weekend for me. I'm not getting another Lost disc until Monday and all the Fudgees are gone. Good, I have a lot of writing to do.

If you're in hurricane country, take care.