As I was leaving for work yesterday--planting a kiss or two upon each member of the family--I don't consider the frogs part of the family--Bunnah asked the question, "Where do kisses go? Do they go down your throat?" I'm guessing she was joking. Three, four years ago, it would have been a serious philosophical question. But joke or not, on the way to work I was mulling over the phrase.

"Where do kisses go?"

The clinical answer, of course, would not do. One could start talking about moisture and evaporation rates and all that, but where is the poetry in that? No, such a question deserves to be handled with creativity and affection.

An essay on the subject would be nice--perhaps something about love spreading through one's cheek, down to the heart or something like that. Nice and warm and fuzzy.

Or perhaps something humorous. A child's tale, chronicling the investigations of a pint-sized scientist and her assistant as they attempt to observe and document the various kisses that occur around them.

Lots of potential there. But alas, I don't have the time to do anything with the idea. If anyone else wants to take it and run with it, be my guest.