As of yesterday, it had been approximately 1 year, 8 months and 2 days since I was last kissed - not that I was counting. Seriously. I have a freakish memory for dates and the last person I kissed was a boy I was very much in love with and I sort of knew it was goodbye and it happened to be the day before my birthday. Quite memorable and not such a hard date to calculate.
To some my streak may seem like a very long one, to others it may not be a big deal. For me, it was long but not necessarily difficult. It was mostly just startling when I realized I managed to make my way through all of 2005 without so much as a peck from the opposite sex. Opportunities occassionally presented themselves but I happily refrained . . . until last night.
Call it hormones, lack of self respect or whatever label you choose to give it. I call it breaking a streak. To put my streak in perspective a little bit, I think my last streak was probably only 6 months and that was in 1992 or 1993. Or maybe I matched that in 1997/1998. Previously, it was never long enough to worry about. It certainly never even hit the one year mark.
How The Record Fell
Yesterday afternoon I received a call on my cell phone while I was at work. I could barely understand the caller so I managed to give him my work number and about 45 minutes later he called me back. I met this particular random boy last summer when I first moved back to NYC - I thought he was cute but not very easy to interact with. Didn't think about him much after that and I didn't see him for months. Last week he showed up at my apartmnet for ward FHE (which I host every Monday night for anyone willing to make the trek to my place). He isn't in my ward. As out of practice as I was - I got the vibe.
Sure enough by Thursday he called me. I was on a plane to DC waiting for them to shut the doors and order all cell phones off. He told me to call him when I got back. I didn't. On purpose. Not because I didn't think about it or kind of wanted to but because I decided to play the game - which I never play. So then I receive yesterday's call. He awkwardly reminded me that something was said about me needing to connect my stereo (actually computer) to my tv. He was not smooth and he didn't actually ask me out, he just invited himself to my apartment that night. I was curious and gave in even though I was irritated that he couldn't just invite me to dinner.
I was home by 8 for the 830 appointment. He was late. Very late. At 9 something (yes after 9:00!!), I called him. Voicemail. I left a sarcastic message and decided that was it. I was bugged but I can't say that I was all that effected by it. At 9:41 (I checked my phone), he called. Stuck at work. I was understanding and when he still wanted to come over - I acquiesced.
As soon as he arrived I knew his intentions. I had already made up my mind that the streak could die so it proved entertaining - watching somewhat critically as he moved closer to me on the couch and made up excuses (lame ones) to touch my leg or put his arm around me.
I let him kiss me and the streak died. My longest streak since I entered the world of kissing. Part of me is proud of it, part of me is a bit ashamed it took that long. Partly I wish it hadn't fallen quite like that. When you hold out that long you kind of hope the streak will fall in some grand way - like at the top of the Empire State Building or in Central Park after a fresh snow. Not sitting on the couch pretending to watch a dvd of Entourage taking interest mainly to see how he will make the inevitable move.