It can be said that within my life, there are only a few situations that elicit complete and utter panic. Of these, violence and death seem to be much easier to deal with than that of the “goodnight kiss.”

Following an intense amount of effort throughout a date, one needs to take the risk and see if they’ve made the “qualifying round.” It kind of reminds me of a college application test, except that in this case, the entrance exam fee is a little higher. Also, Kaplan doesn’t offer as many courses to guide you in this matter.

Throughout my life, there have been many different techniques I’ve tried to use to handle this dilemma. In one case, I pretend to be coy and shy and hope she’ll kiss me out of sheer pity. I’ve learned that although most major movie stars always seem to have a beautiful female lead kiss them with little incentive-for the “average male,”- it simply seems to be, um… hopeless.

There’s also the “accident” technique; to kind of bob and dodge, as if you are passing a friend in a narrow hallway and then sort of bump into each other. I’ve even tried the rather diplomatic maneuver of begging, but this is even less cool than it sounds.

Last Thursday, I was sitting in the car with my date when again the panic set in. It was getting late when she gave me “the look.” For those of you unaware of what “the look” is, it can best be described as a cross between love and gas. There’s also that additional glance your partner gives from your eyes to your lips and back again. At that moment, I usually wipe my mouth and check myself in the mirror to make sure she’s not staring at something hanging on my lip. My face seemed clean.

Now, I realized it was decision time. I didn’t even plan out which of my elaborately unsuccessful techniques to use. Of course, you would expect nothing less than perfect and rational commonness from me. But in this case, it was slightly less common.

Okay, maybe it could be better described as complete and utter terror laced with a touch of panic for added zest.

Of course, as when any of us panic, I tried to think how somebody else would handle this situation. The first person I thought of wasn’t the coolest guy in class, or an elder-brother type of figure. I chose my old boss, Ed.

No, it wasn’t the way he asked me to send faxes, or the way he asked me to write a report analyzing the economic nature of Eastern Zimbabwe. It was his accent. Ed was born and raised in Cuba and I’ve come to learn that women love accents. Even more, women love Cuban accents. Women always seemed to smile when Ed talked so this must have been the case. Okay, maybe they might have been smiling because they were laughing at him, but it was a gamble I was willing to take. I decided that this was the way to go. Since then, I’ve come to the conclusion that in most people, panic also causes highly delusionary states.

I looked her in the eyes and said, “Jew ahr booty-full”.

Now, I must interject again and explain that I was not calling her a Jew, so please understand that I am not anti-semitic, but I am writing exactly with the accent I was using at the time. Then again, maybe certain accents can promote racial tension with other groups due to such misinterpretations. Isn’t it amazing the type of thoughts that go through people’s heads at these moments?

As can be expected, she looked at me, smiled, and then laughed uncontrollably. Okay, I wasn’t expecting the uncontrollable laughter. However, whether this was a good laugh or a bad laugh was irrelevant as it relieved the tension, and I felt a little more at ease.

Considering her face no longer had that look of somewhere between gas or love, but somewhere more along the lines of shock, I figured I should explain to her about my Cuban attitude.

“I asked my boss what I should do, and he said, ‘Jew moosed tell ze wooman zat gee east booty-full.'”

She looked at me and smiled. That smile was more of a salvation than some religious zealots had waited years to see. What was more surprising, she even spoke without slapping me for being an idiot. “What else did he say?”

In retrospect, I’d have to imagine that she had caught on to the fact that I was improvising and was just putting me through my own version of Dante’s Inferno, but I figured I had to try.

“He said, “Jew moost alzo, old ‘er ‘ands and moov dem a lawt like How-din-i. Ze woman luv ze magic.” I said this while holding her hands, which I already considered a significant victory. It wasn’t getting to that high school metaphor of “first base,” but I think it should have counted for at least a walk or a ball.

Her face changed, and she said, “Did he suggest for you to try anything else?”

I noticed a little sparkle in the corner of her eye. Then again, it could have been the headlights of another car, but my confidence was rising… not enough for me to fully dismiss the headlight theory) but I would leave
that controversy to the FBI to check out.

“He said, “An zen, jew moost kiss ‘er on ze corna of er lips.” At which point I leaned in and kissed her at a point, exactly halfway on her lips and halfway on her cheeks. It was so perfectly in the middle, to kiss you.

Secondly, you should only try to kiss someone where there are no headlights around or you may get confused about that “glimmer in the eye” thing.

And lastly, when you’re on a date and all else fails, kiss like a Cuban.