By Dee “Baby” Baysinger

It all began when Rhett Butler laid that kiss on Scarlett O’Hara and she nearly swooned. That famous silver screen liplock instilled in me a yearning for that passion that was laced with that smooch. It has been a long search. But what I want to know now, is there a timeline or a deadline for passion, and what age is it? (And Heaven forbid, have I crossed it?)
The Baysinger clan are a hugging family and it wasn’t uncommon when you parted ways to kiss your aunts and uncles goodbye (on the lips). Esther maintains that has always been just wrong. Now my cousins insist they saw cheek action, but no lip.
Well, I moved past that stage and on into my teenage years and dating. Carlton Cassens was possibly my very first date and he was very proper and walked me to the door. I turned and prepared myself for my goodnight kiss. But I looked him in the eye and just knew he was gonna walk on me. So being an enterprising girl I took the iniative and grabbed him before he got away. (Even way back then I knew I wanted more than a handshake.)
For years Carlton gleefully related his side of the story by saying I chased him to his car he just about made it but I tied him to a tree and kissed him. When someone asked him, “How was it?” he smugly replied, “Have you ever stuck your face in an open watermelon?”
My mom never ever gave us the big “sex talk.” I think she attempted to broach the subject one day over lunch with Gay and I, with a brief question and answer session.
Mom – “Do you know what a French kiss is?”
Gay – “Yes.”
Dee – “Yes.”
Mom – “Have you ever run across anyone who wanted to French kiss?”
Gay – “No.”
Dee – “Yes.” (I should have kicked Gay under the table for lying.)
Mom (in shock) – “Who was it?”
Dee – “Me.”
End of talk.
Now, fast forward to 2012 as I prepare to go to Bryan Lutter’s 40th birthday bash. I call cousin Janet and enquire if she thinks it will be O.K. to “slip him the tongue.” She assured me it was absolutely O.K. I decide to arrive early so I can be one of the first to greet the birthday honoree. Wisdom tells me you don’t want to wait until the end of the beverage night and receive the “sloppy kiss.”
Even the best-laid plans can go to H—-. I had geared myself up for a wild kiss from the Wild Boy, much to my surprise I received a chaste, pure-as-the-driven-snow kiss. Disappointment must have been all over my face because Wanda Swenson (Bryan’s mother-in-law) rushed over and put her hand on my arm to console me, and said, “I know Dee, I saw you got the peck.”
I complained to Hillary (wife) later and said, “Bryan gave me a Grandma Kiss!”
She replied, “Don’t feel bad Dee, he kisses me like that, too.”
So, what do you think – have I reached the passion deadline, the point of no return? I hate to envision a dismal future where the fun factor in a kiss ceases to exist, only to be replaced by a sense of duty. (Esther did point out that I’m not to the age yet where my dentures would fall out on them – nice.)
Dee Baby
P.S. Here’s to you – Myron Grosz – hope you like this column.