I had heard about the contest on the radio, entered it on a whim, and literally screamed out loud when the DJ called me one morning on my way to class to tell me that we were chosen to compete. I mean, a radio contest. I thought people only participated in those things on 80's sitcoms. This was the most exciting thing to happen to a girl who entered every contest imaginable and had only won one--the prize of which was a membership to a gym at which I was already a member.
Trevor arrived that Friday afternoon and, as we were walking towards my apartment, I casually dropped it into the conversation.
"What kind of radio contest?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
"Um, it's like...it's a kissing contest."
His eyes bugged out. "A what?"
"Yeah, it's a contest to see which couple can kiss the longest and whoever wins gets a diamond ring. Not that I am in any way suggesting I need a diamond ring right now." It's the principle of the thing, really. "You want to do it?"
And after the initial shock wore off, he wholeheartedly agreed. After all, we only got to see each other once a month, so it seemed like a pretty good way to spend the afternoon.
So we spent our Saturday in a jewelry store, surrounded by radio hosts and the local news crew, as we kissed. And kissed. And kissed. All while hearing our names announced over the radio show in between Phil Collins and Michael Jackson. Unfortunately the jewelry store was still open for business as all this was going on, so strangers were inches away from us, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact. It was only then that I realized how absurd the whole thing was.
Two by two, couples were dropping out until it was us and one other couple. At the end of every hour we were given a ten minute break, and during our last break we learned that the other couple had just gotten engaged.
And we kind of felt like slime because we secretly thought the ring was ugly and had made plans to pawn the sucker. So we took ourselves out of the competition and we came out the runners-up.
Although, if you think about it, there really were no losers that day.
We kissed for six hours. And were on the local news and radio, which I didn't think much of until I was sitting in class the next Monday. Some girl called out across the classroom, "Heather, I was listening to the radio the other day and, well...were you in a kissing contest?"
So that, friends, made my twenty-one years of waiting for a boyfriend on Valentine's Day totally worth it. I promise that I am not a, how you say, hootchie-mama. Nor do I promote making out in public. Unless, of course, there's a diamond ring involved.
Word on the street is that there is a news clip of said event floating around the Internet. As if I haven't located it at least five times and watched it with popcorn. But I didn't want anyone to lose their lunch. You're welcome, and happy Valentine's Day.