Saturday Rachel and I were assaulted. Twice. By unnecessary (and gross) public displays of affection.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate P.D.A. Boo’s planted one on me in an empty aisle at Target or while we’re waiting for the subway. And don’t talk to me about the goodbye kiss at the train station. That one’s allowed, so shut up!
There is a time and a place for P.D.A. and Rachel and I were front row witnesses to times when P.D.A. protocol was violated.
Up way earlier than is appropriate for a Saturday, Rachel and I made our way to the Cole Haan sample sale. We arrived at 9:10, just 10 minutes after it started and were already faced with a 30-minute wait in line. No problem, we can easily amuse ourselves.
After about 15 minutes we noticed The Disgustingtons. They caught my attention when the girl started complaining about how the line wasn’t moving and how “that guy should just get off his Blackberry and walk already!!” despite the fact that there was someone directing the flow of traffic to avoid having 70 people on the stairs at one time.
The next thing we know, they are going at it. He’s got his hands all over her face and her hands are on his ass and they are macking. Hard core.
We tried our best but couldn’t tear our eyes away. It was like roadkill–you didn’t want to look but it was too nasty to actually avert your eyes for long. Rachel and I decided that if they were an attractive couple we wouldn’t have been as offended. Sadly for their sake (or I guess for ours, geeze I am MEAN) they were gross. Girlfriend had a bleached blonde perm and sweatpants tucked into her Uggs and homeboy wasn’t much better off.
Let me remind you again that the time is now 9:25am. No one has had their coffee. Even if they have, there’s not enough caffeine in the world to make that level of tonsil hockey okay at that hour. At that point we started debating the differences and societal acceptability of daytime P.D.A.
There never seems to be a time or place where that’s okay. At night, we justified, P.D.A. is usually b/w drunk people at a bar and that’s not a big deal. That’s standard Friday night activity.
I’d already decided that the morning’s events would become blog fodder. I had planned to leave it at what you’ve just read. The argument being that daytime P.D.A should be avoided at all costs but nightttime P.D.A. is doable.
Then Rachel and I hopped a 6 train at 9:30 Saturday night.
A mere 12 hours after our initial assault our eyes were again attacked. The Old Disgustingtons, filling the car with the smell of alcohol and swaying, got on the train at 86th St., splitting a pair of guys who had gotten on together. Before the doors even shut I saw the little lady (and she was quite tiny–barely up to the man’s shoulders) do the drunk “lean in, tilt head back, and groan…’sexily'” Too bad the groan is never sexy when you’re as plastered as this chick was. It was more of a moan…and again, not a sexy one. A pained one.
Gross old man went in for the kill. He was so tall that he had to bend his knees and fall forward before he could vacu-seal his face to hers. Then hands were roaming, limbs were flailing and the doors kept bouncing back open. Once G.O.M realized that he and his chicky were the culprits, he inched them forward and they continued their quest to gross out all the passengers in the car, specifically the dudes they’d split up, one of which had a front row seat–no options for his eyes except to watch them get it on or squeeze his eyes shut and pray to forget that visual. I wanted to get a picture but Rachel wouldn’t let me. Maybe it’s for the best. That’s not a visual most of you could handle.
Let me remind you again that the time is now 9:40pm.
The macking continued until 59th St when the Old Disgustingtons moved from their post in front of the door to set up shop in front of 2 poor girls sitting on the bench, minding their own business. I lost it at that point. I was laughing hysterically, Rachel was cursing her lack of view, the lost dude, also laughing, rejoined his friend who looked totally scarred for life. And then I looked up and saw the sheer horror on the faces of the girls on the bench. One looked on the verge of tears.
We got off the train at 51st St and changed our stance on P.D.A. Everything we’d thought about out-of-house macking got turned upside down in the course of 12 hours. And we realized–daytime P.D.A. is NOT okay. Ditto for nighttime.
Unless of course you’re good looking.
Or the people around you are as drunk as you are and don’t notice the fact that you’ve attached your face to someone else’s and are now blocking the exit.
If they aren’t, take a cab. I hear that’s what they’re for.