Gillian Feehan and Mary Morris
Contributing Writers
It was a rare night that we were eating in the Bostwick Marketplace. We were just minding our own business, eating our money’s worth, and then, the unspeakable happened: gross couple at six o’clock. Cue the vomiting. It started out with Eskimo kisses, but quickly progressed into face licking (we cannot make this stuff up). As if it couldn’t get any worse, the show quickly turned into something straight off the Discovery Channel. A couple of baby birds started to enjoy an intimate dinner. Yummy. The male bird, sensing that his lovely female companion was hungry, held a slice of melon in his mouth and offered it to the female, who nibbled the melon thanks to the assistance of her lover. How romantic. Who needs utensils these days?
There is a line, my fellow students, and it has most assuredly been crossed. If you must perform public displays of affection, can we agree on some ground rules? Your PDA should make me jealous by its simplicity and naturalness. It should not make me want to claw my eyes out or hurl in the nearest trash can. Couples should aim for the casual hand holding as opposed to a Gorilla-glue death grip; a cute good-bye peck on the cheek instead of sloppily mapping the anatomy of the throat with your tongue; simply getting your own plate of food instead of feeding each other like you’re baby birds.
I would rather feel bad about my personal life than feel nauseated on a regular basis. Holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes or a bit of snuggling is totally acceptable. But please, for the love of all things good and happy in this world, stop the excessively, lovey-dovey PDA. Save that for after dinner, back at your own rooms. All of the innocent bystanders will appreciate you for it.