“Hello, darling”
Lean in.
“Mwah!”
Or is it…
“Mwah Mwah!”
Or is it…
“Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”
Is it right cheek first or left?
Right, left, right.
Left, right, left.
Air kissing has its own rules and guidelines and I’m damned if I can figure them out.
However, we have to do it, I’d rather it be airbourne than a full on smackeroo.
In the run up to our elections our politicians seem to eschewing the air kiss for the lip locking, tonsil tickling smooch. It makes my blood run cold. My reaction is in part due to my personal space issues, but those aside, it’s not the kind of relationship I want my politicians engaging in.
Watching middle-aged women smashing their lips together in a weak attempt to create intimacy between opposing political factions is only marginally less embarrassing than watching a white woman toyi-toyi.
If you are not familiar with the toyi-toyi, picture Kylie Minogue twerking and the feeling of skin crawling horror you experience would be akin to that of watching a white woman toyi-toyi. Excruciating.
At least this spate of kissing cousins does a little something to relieve the pall of ennui that lies like a heavy layer of smog over these elections.
Oh, we’ll turn out to put our little X in the box, but with little hope that anything will change. This time next year we’ll have the same bunch of inept politicians and their second cousin’s twice removed best friend pocketing our tax money for nothing in return.
At least, now that we’ve already paid for our President’s R250 million swimming pool, we won’t have that burden to carry in his next term. Unless, of course, he decides he wants it gold-plated instead.
The Blurred Line 