Maybe this comes as a direct result of my days as a camp counselor, when I was told to police any signs of Public Displays of Affection (heretofor known as PDA), but it really pisses me off. I’m not talking about a light graze, some hand holding or even the occasional peck; but when I see couples groping each other, making out and more or less trying to get each other off in a bar/restaurant/park it makes me want to inject myself with swine flu and then spit in their faces.
I was at a bar in Burlington a couple of weekends ago, enjoying a Mojito (I was going to go with a Vodka-Soda, but the bartender pissed me off so I made him do some work), having some good conversation with friends while some people we were with were non-stop fondling each other a few feet from us. Now they are good friends, so I gave them a bit of shit the next day and laughed it off, but it really forced me to think about why PDA happens.
And I came up with two reasons – 1. the people PDAing are so genuinely happy with each other they literally can not keep their hands off each other and 2. some guy is making an effort and hooking up. Sure, both have their merits but I also think both are unacceptable. I’m no cynic, I’m ecstatic for couples like that…but get it out of my fucking face. I realize you aren’t intentionally showing off your happiness to others, but that’s what it always seems like. And as for the guy trying to hook up, if you are having to resort to that level of cheesiness you might want to figure out a new game.
Oh shit, I’m recalling some of my exploits this past weekend, and I’m as guilty of No.2 as anyone. Even worse, it was with a girl I barely knew. She was a friend of a friend, some drinks were consumed, and next thing you know I’m all over this broad. Hand holding constantly walking from bar to bar, groping thighs, hands constantly moving around, talking all close like we were about to make out. I’m throwing up in my mouth a little just thinking about my PDAing.
PS – The girl had a friend who was way too intoxicated leaving the girl I was all over responsible for her, so my PDA didn’t even pay off.
PPS – The next morning I saw I had a missed call from said girl at about quarter to 4, my phone was right next to my ear. I get a booty call about once every two years. Moral of the story – don’t drink so much that you can’t hear your ringtone (“Alive,” by Pearl Jam) after a night at the bar.