I was lying on the couch reading one afternoon when my wife walked by and blew me a kiss. On instinct, I dodged it. She looked affronted but kept walking. I went back to my book, but several minutes later, I looked up to see her standing over me. Quick as a bullet, she smooched twice and blew them at me. Double tap to the forehead. I didn’t have a chance.
I might have let it go at that, but the next morning I saw that she had written 2:0 on the whiteboard in the kitchen.
“Oh, that’s how you want to play, is it?” I asked.
“Bring it on, jerk,” she said. I made as if I was going back for the cereal but then turned and blew her a kiss as fast as I could. She caught it and threw it back at me.
“Hey, no kissbacks!” I said.
“Sorry, them’s the rules.” She smirked and changed the 2 to a 3.
I entered by the garage that day when I came home from work. I could hear her making dinner in the kitchen. I took off my coat and boots and then crept noiselessly into the kitchen and up behind her. She was chopping carrots at the counter.
“Kiss kiss kiss!” I shouted. “Three points for me.”
She screamed and spun around, throwing the knife at me. It shot past my ear and hit the fridge, clattering to the floor. “Don’t ever sneak up behind me! Are you crazy?”
I assured her I wasn’t. “At least I got three points.” I went and changed the tally on the whiteboard.
“Who cares? I almost killed you.” Then she relaxed. “Sorry, you just really scared me. Welcome home.” She gave me a kiss, then grinned. “One more point for me.”
“What? I kissed you back.”
“But I kissed you first, so I get the point.” She went and changed the tally to 4:3, then staunchly refused to let me kiss her until dinner was over.
“We need to make a rule,” I said when dinner was over. “Contact kisses don’t count. I don’t want to be keeping score all the time.”
“Fair enough,” she said. Then she dove behind the table and fired a kiss at my leg. I ran into the hall and for the next half hour we ran around the house like kids, firing kisses at each other. By the end of it, the score was 54:42 for her.
The next day at work was exhausting and I forgot about our little kiss war as I staggered through the door. “I’m home!” I shouted. The house was quiet. I was just wondering where she was when I saw a bunker of couch pillows built in the kitchen. There was a smacking sound and then another.
“Got you!” she shouted.
It was a bloodbath of affection. I was pinned down by the doorway, still in my boots and coat. I had to take them off before I could even get down behind the couch and take cover. I finally charged the kitchen but it cost me dearly and by the time I reached the bunker and we declared a truce, the score stood at 93:44.
I had to end things once and for all. I went down to my workroom that evening and with a box and a length of wire, I started to create my ultimate project. I brought it up as my wife was in the bathroom brushing her teeth and when she came out, I was standing there, box between us, button in my hand.
“It’s a kiss nuke,” I said. “15 million kisses at the push of a button.”
“But, but you’ll be kissing yourself too,” she protested.
“I’m willing to do that.”
“There’s no way this house can withstand 15 million kisses all at once. You’ll be kissing all the neighbors with this. I won’t have you kissing the neighbors!”
“Sorry,” I said. “This is the way it’s going to be. Now kiss this contest good-bye.”
She suddenly started laughing. She laughed and laughed until she fell on the floor. I went over and helped her up.
“Come here, you dork,” she said. She gave me a real kiss and a hug and we stood like that for a minute.
“So what now?” I asked.
She looked up at me. “I don’t know. Wanna have a hug o’ war?”