Take your forefinger and, very lightly, horizontally trace it across the middle of your top lip. Nice, right? Now, even more lightly, repeat that motion across your bottom lip. Yeah…that’s the good stuff.
My lips, and more specifically my bottom lip is fairly epic. This is not posturing, but fact. Some folks can sing. Others have flawless skin. My lips are the stuff of which dreams are made. Ill-equipped for the objectification that came with them at 13, I’d practice pursing them in the mirror. Somehow, I believed this would strengthen whatever muscle allowed my bottom lip to hang lax and pout, provoking crude suggestions from my male peers. It wasn’t until my first trip to a real makeup counter, when I asked for a very understated nude color, and the older Latina sister said, “Honey, if I had your lips, I wouldn’t know what this color looked like.” She dismissed my apprehension and sold me a gorgeous plum lipstick. The rest is history.
Love for my own lips has caused me to focus on other people’s lips. Is it just a part of their face, or do they make it the star of the show? Lips do, of course, tell your story literally and figuratively. Additionally, spring fever is in full swing, and all I can think about is kissing.
That’s right. I’m a grown woman with two kids, who has clearly engaged in some discernibly adult conduct, but kissing is on the “few of my favorite things” list. I’ve never regretted kissing someone. Of course, there’s that tentative moment, where you’re both suspended in the moment of whether or not this is what you’re actually going to do. But everything after that is certain. A kiss is decided and sure; its intimacy is almost protective. Kissing employs each and every one of those nerve endings packed into your lips. It’s one of those things I could go on about, but I’ll just let my girl Bassey Ikpi take it home.
Yeah…that’s where it’s at.