PDA Guide


I’m usually on the wrinkled nose of this scene so I am highly qualified to provide a guide to couples in public settings who feel the need (amongst other things) to put their love on display. You may sense a tinge of jealousy. That depends. Why must I be convinced that you’re in love? Who told you I care? Ah, wait a minute. Is this display an act of marking your territory? She’s all yours, brother.

There are subtle displays of affection that work exceptionally well, even when deployed in crowded spaces. Try this first:

  • Holding hands
  • Hugging
  • Gentle caressing of non-private areas
  • Whispered naughtiness
  • Peck-style kisses
  • Pat on the head
  • Tiny squeeze of the rump (one hand only)
  • Wink
  • Smile
  • Minor adjustment of stray hair (often stuck to lip gloss)
  • Spoon feeding a dinner or dessert morsel

None of those cause indigestion, do they? Well, sure, there are exceptions, but as long as an old geezer isn’t bouncing a buxom Playmate upon his arthritic knee, it’s tolerable.

Conversely, when I am cuddling my rocks glass, the last thing I want to see across the bar is some lizard-tongued stooge face raping his woman. That ain’t pretty, not even on late-night Skinemax. All that induces are elbows from patrons, groans, and the ever-famous line: “Get a room!”

In case the various unacceptable acts aren’t apparent, please allow me to detail them:

  • Grabbing the back of your mate’s hair while licking her esophagus.
  • Standing there with a boner, after your woman leaves your embrace.
  • Running your greasy-nailed fingers up the front of her sweater.
  • Rubbing her feet.
  • Exhaling moisture into my fucking earlobe. (Sorry, that one’s personal and exceptionally icky.)
  • Tweaking nipples.
  • Grinding into him while you sit on his lap or dance in front of him while bent over.
  • Body shots from anywhere but forearm or neck.

It amazes me that people having public foreplay are so oblivious or nonchalant about their effect on bystanders. I wish people would treat it like public urination. (OK, side note here: JWoww, if you really, truly peed behind the bar in that nightclub at the Jersey Shore, how the hell were you not incarcerated? Hey, Seaside police: IT’S RIGHT THERE ON FILM. Arrest her before other idiots begin copycatting!)

But, I digress.

It doesn’t matter if the PDA-tards are attractive or not–it’s fucking gross.

“Holy crap! Look at those two. Are you kidding me right now?”

“Oh, great. Thanks for pointing it out. Aren’t there any vomit puddles or children with cleft palates to bring to my attention?”

“I think they’re going to disrobe and have sex right there on the barstool.”

“It’s certainly heading in that direction. With any luck, he’ll misfire into his jeans and spare us the agony.”

I’m fine with sudden urges and affection. Just consider the audience and, if you need to, take a ten-minute trip out to your window-tinted (except where illegal) SUV and make your deposit privately. We, the cringing cohabitants of the bar, thank you.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.