I had my first cold sores last week. I don’t recommend it. They’re pretty awful really. I got Abreva like the drugstore clerk told me to, and I was upset that it didn’t seem to be cutting the pain at all. Then, I washed my face and washed off the Abreva. Holy cow was it doing a lot. I just didn’t know it. I am also swallowing massive amounts of Lysine, in Mike & Ike sized white lozenges. If you can avoid it, don’t ever get a cold sore. Trust me.
I mostly mention this because it’s made me realize just how spoiled I am. I have not been kissed in 14 days. This is a very long time. Brian and I have a pact that neither is allowed to leave the other without a kiss. We kiss each other when I drop him off at work in the mornings. We kiss when I leave to go to the grocery store. We kiss when he gathers up his books to go to D&D. We even kiss when we’re angry at each other, quick pecks followed by terse goodbyes. That’s how much of a habit this has become.
Cold sores are not something I would wish on anyone. Kissing is out. Instead, I’ve been pressing my cheek to his and giving him a hug, or fluttering my eyelashes against his cheek in a butterfly kiss. It’s not the same. At all. In fact, it is decidedly unsatisfying.
Of all the annoyances I would expect of getting a cold sore, this is the one I would not have foreseen. I’m much better now. I promise. I think I might even be safe to kiss again. Maybe. Probably. Well, soon anyway.
Casey E. Hamilton 