The summer before college, I was hooking up with this guy. He wasn’t anything special, but we kind of enjoyed each others’ company. I was rigid enough for him to enjoy some structure and he was loose enough for me to kind of let go. Besides that, we really weren’t particularly suited to each other. We don’t talk anymore, but that’s besides the point.

We had this bright idea to try to make out with Pop Rocks in our mouths. Why? I don’t know. We were post-high school and thought we were awesome. I really honestly have no idea why we wanted to do it and I can’t even offer you a reasonable explanation at all for it. It was idiotic. 

Procuring the Pop Rocks was more of a task than expected. No stores near us sold them. We checked whatever convenience store we stopped in before retiring to whatever parking lot we usually wound up in. But, our search for Pop Rocks turned up unfruitful each time.

Until, finally, one day, I was out jogging with my father and we stopped into a store to get a bottle of water. There, by the counter, I saw the Pop Rocks. I nearly died. Dream realized. I bought them, only to be awkwardly asked by my father every so often if I was going to eat them or not. 

That weekend, we got together to try out the Pop Rocks. We were both just so excited about it, not because of the fact that we were going to make out with Pop Rocks involved, but because we had finally found them after what seemed like forever. 

He dipped his head back and poured some into his mouth and leaned in to kiss me. At first, it was kind of whatever. Just random popping and unintentional munching noises. Then, his tongue hit the roof of my mouth and trapped a huge one in between. It burst hard, cutting his tongue and the top of my mouth. It hurt like a mother.

We both kind of eased away from each other and didn’t say much after that besides the occasional “are you okay?”. 

Moral of the story: I don’t know. Don’t make out with Pop Rocks in your mouth?