Bisous are what the French call that double-kiss thing they do in greeting. This side of the face, that side of the face, and often just an air kiss, and not between men if one of them is a foreigner …

Anyway, this very French kiss-kiss thing struck me as weird the first time I was egged on to try it, and left me feeling uncomfortable for a long time. Oh, like decades.

But I have come around on bisous (pronounced BEE-zoos). I now support bisous and believe they might be every bit as worthy of export as Champagne.

Ultimately,  bisous may seem physically intimate. But they’re not, really.

Unless you blow garlic breath into someone’s face,  or get a little “handsy” (as we used to describe not-quite-accidental groping) … bisous are just a couple of air kisses as someone comes in the front door, or is introduced. And you’re done.

But bisous serve a real purpose. Beyond having a chance to scope out the perfume a woman might be wearing.

Bisous effectively (and immediately) puncture that defensive force field we put up around ourselves. Well, Americans, anyway. They get us physically close to someone new in a completely non-threatening and quite non-intrusive way.

Thing is, though, if you’ve sorta hugged someone and faked some kisses in the general vicinity of their cheeks … well, you’re pals, aren’t you? Not intimate pals, but fake-kissed pals, and we don’t even do that with our own parents, generally.

After bisous, you can talk. You can offer a glass of wine. You can sit around and have frank and open discussions.

It is a great social kickstart. Better than Champagne, actually.

So, anyway, as you read this, I’m trying to get back to Southern California, leaving France behind. (Sigh.)

I may not be trying to sneak a whole bunch of bisous through customs, but we would be hard pressed to bring home anything that costs so little and yields such tangible value.