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function? Where’s the off switch? Who do I have to say nice things to to get them to stop? If I sleep on my stomach, will that slow the rate of growth?

Clarice pulls out a bag full of candles and begins setting them around Maggie’s room. We’re starting to look like the candle store at the Plaza—the one with eighty discreetly placed fire extinguishers and no overhead lights.
    “What’s with the candles?” I ask.
    “My sister says you must have the correct ambience when discussing kissing and kissing techniques,” Clarice answers, intently positioning pillars and votives.
    Maggie moves behind her with one of those foot-long lighters, setting every wick aglow. The lit candles begin filling the room with a mosh pit of scents.
    “Didn’t she mean actual kissing ambience?” The room smells like a yummy brothel in Turkey.
    “No. It’s a ritual thing in our family. You get Frenched, you light smelly candles.” Clarice sets the empty shopping bag aside.
    Uh-huh. And when do you sacrifice the chicken and smear frog intestines on your face?
I glance at Maggie, hoping I’m not the onlyone feeling empty of understanding. She smiles at me. I hesitate, then venture in. “I don’t get it.”
    Maggie shakes her head in minute agreement.
    “There’s nothing to get.” Clarice is oblivious to the look Maggie and I shoot each other.
    “Okay.” I don’t get it. But I really like the fruity coffee-cream candle wafting to my left.
    Maggie pulls out a file folder from under her bed and shuffles through computer printouts. “I did a little research.”
    Okay, here’s the deal, I’ve never understood how much I need and want girlfriends until this moment. I’m not going to get all gooey and gushy, but I have to say that watching Clarice light candles to purify my kissing karma and Maggie pull out her file-o’-technique, I realize that I’m blessed. I have to wonder why it took so long.
    Maggie shuffles the papers and pauses like she’s gathering her thoughts before starting the lecture. “I’m impressed by the sheer number of techniques! I’m not sure we can cover the spectrum in a single sleepover.”
    “Whatever. What are they?” Clarice waves her hands and jingles several very goth charm bracelets.
    “Soft. Hard. Biting. Sucking. Breathing. They all have weird names.”
    “Maybe we should watch the movies first, then decide which is which?” While I’m a serious fan of book learning, I’m thinking visual aids may be much more helpful. And more fun. Fun is good.
    “Fine.” Maggie reaches for a stack of DVDs while Clarice pops the tab on a Diet Coke and rips the bag of Ruffles.
    I pull out the Twizzlers, gummy bears and Doritos. Quite adelicious combo when eaten together. The salty, the sweet, the artificial chemical haze of the twenty-first century.
    “What’s first on the list?” I ask, grabbing a full-calorie beverage.
    “From Here to Eternity.”
Maggie puts in the DVD and stacks more pillows for better viewing.
    The beginning credits roll. Either there’s something wrong with Maggie’s HDTV or the movie is really old, like precolor.
    “What’s that?” Clarice licks her fingers. “It’s black-and-white. Who makes black-and-white movies anymore? Seriously retro.”
    Maggie shushes her. “It’s voted the best kiss ever on-screen,” she says.
    “It’s in black-and-white.” Apparently, Clarice only lives in Technicolor.
    “I’m just the librarian here,” Maggie offers.
    I prepare to be blown away by the mind-blowingness of the most perfect kiss ever to grace the silver screen.
    Clarice can’t just give herself up to the experience. “Are we watching these chronologically?”
    Maggie presses pause. “Nope, ‘best kiss’ is how they’re listed.” She waves her stack of papers around.
    Clarice motions to the television. “Who are these people? They’re old.”
    “Yeah, so?” Maggie shrugs with disdain and pauses the movie.
    I try to break the tension. “Frank Sinatra is in it.