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I've never been in love before. And I'm currently unattached. I mean,
single. Unmistakably single. Support group single. Hanging out in the
produce section of the grocery store single. So maybe all of this swinging
singleness has only added fuel to the fire of my bitter resentment toward
love-struck couplets. Those strolling side-by-side in the park, arms
intertwined, her hand faithfully furnishing his back with a rubdown better
reserved for a trained massage therapist. Or twosomes crammed on the same
escalator step in the middle of the shopping mall, shamelessly hunting and
pecking in full view of wide-eyed, impressionable youngsters. I suffer to
watch them. It's painful, and just a little nauseating. Except my problem
really isn't with the existence of these partnerships, only the ways they
are displayed. When I say I suffer to watch, I mean that literally. The
whole of my wretched anguish can be summed up in three dreaded little
letters: PDA.
No? Not familiar with PDA? For those not hip to the acronym, let me
explain. That's P for Public, as in, "Hello! You're in public. I can see
that!" D for Display, as in, "If you display that tongue one more time, I am
going to physically remove it from your body." And A for Affection, as in,
"You really want to show some affection? Skip the lip-lock and take her to
the mall." Public display of affection. The life force behind Tylenol and
Pepto production nationwide.
Just when did love become so public, I want to know? Why now, do so many
couples decide to make the experience of their love a communal thing? This
certainly didn't happen in the '50s. Would June Cleaver have slapped a big
wet one on Ward right in front of Wally and the Beav? I should think not.
Maybe the sixties flower children spread more than just their message of
peace? Well, what a debt of gratitude I owe them. They must have
preconceived the supreme joy I'd feel in hearing two bumbling
fourteen-year-olds make-out in the back of the movie theater. And why did
high-ranking conservatives not put a stop to such nonsense during the
height of the Reagan years? Did we not have as much to fear from the domino
theory spread of PDA as we did of communism? Chalk up another domestic
crisis tossed to the wayside in favor of international politics.
It's not that I begrudge people of those heartfelt moments spent with their
beloveds. Love's sentiment is not lost on me; I appreciate a sappy Hallmark
or Christmastime Folgers coffee commercial just as much as the next person.
I just wish the sentiment wasn't so often expressed in hands setting up
camp on rear ends (alright, now that is NOT where nature intended that hand
to rest) or in drawn-out kisses during excruciatingly long red lights.
Thankfully, I don't believe the problem is of epic proportions just yet.
Grand-scale, yes, but a smidgen of hope remains. Thus, I call on every man,
woman, and child (please, let's save the children) who has ever experienced
a PDA-induced stomach turning to speak out, take action. Pull hands apart,
pry heads away, yell, sneer - whatever it takes. If we work together, we
can stop the madness.
I still believe there is no harm in displaying affection towards loved
ones; it's a wonderful way to show how much you care. But please, harbor a
certain amount of pity for those still searching for that one person who
may change our minds on the whole issue (not likely), and whisper your
sweet nothings behind closed doors. The public thanks you.
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