I don’t know, maybe I’m just getting old, but I seem to be increasingly put off by overt public displays of affection. I don’t mean things like simple hand-holding, a quick hug, or peck on the cheek. I’m talking about things that last a little longer than they should. Things that, if they’re happening in your vicinity, you’re uncomfortable and trying to look anywhere but at IT.

A man’s arm around a woman’s waist while walking through the mall is kind of sweet…when his hand is resting on her ass, it’s creepy. I get teenage love and all the raging hormones that go along with it, but for goddsake find the backseat of a car because I don’t want to watch your amateur tongue wrestling in the booth next to mine at Denny’s causing me to lose my appetite for my Grand Slam or Moons Over My-Hammy. Ditto for getting to second base (there really is a Wiki for everything!).

None of this compares to the bawdy display witnessed while awaiting my flight home at the Alaska Airlines gate. It was a May-December romance -heavy on December- an age discrepancy that was almost mind-boggling. But? Consenting adults, blah blah blah, gross…whatever. These two were this close to tearing each others clothes off. He was like a musthing elephant, all aggressive and eager. She was like a wailing cat in heat…the kind that rub its business on anything to relieve the urge to get laid. The kissing was loud and slurpy and repetitious. And happening three feet away from my very uncomfortable person. They were clearly embarking on a sex fueled getaway and it was going to start RIGHT NOW.

Visit us next week when we discuss topics such as “You Call That Music???”, and “Get off My Lawn!”.