Last Monday evening, my friend January and I joined my buddy Ryan and two of his buddies at a local Mexican restaurant in honor of Cinco de Mayo. Ryan has recently relocated back to Little Rock from Los Angeles, so the gathering was also in honor of his return. When presenting Ryan with 20 questions surrounding his return, I asked if he was working yet. This question reminded me of Ryan knowing my boss. Ryan noted “Small world,” while further stating, “his wife walked in on my first kiss. I was twelve years old and already terrified and then I get busted.” Ryan dove further into the story, noting another person, John, who was ironically my first kiss. I said, “No way!! John was my first kiss! I was eleven, nearly twelve!” Most of us found the story quite comical, however, one of Ryan’s friends was taken aback, “Eleven? Twelve? Who is kissing at eleven and twelve!?” I bit my tongue while January chimed in, “seems like a pretty normal age. I was 14.” Ryan’s other less appalled friend chimed in with, “Well I am 25 and I have a ten year old so I’ll let you deduct accordingly.” Priceless. I was disgusted by the very obvious disgust the one friend showed over adolescent kisses.