A love-hate relationship with PDAs and how they highlight my double standards.
How was your Valentine’s Day? It has a special way of bringing out the best and worst in us, wouldn’t you agree?
We make someone feel special (or atone for our mistakes) with sugar, red-petaled plants and new lingerie. We hurl profanities at anyone who reminds you of your distaste for the day. We buy expensive cards. We crave what we want, but don’t have. We remember that we are pretty damn lucky. We sulk at our desks when seemingly every other colleagues receives a ribbon-tied delivery. We do stupidly cheesy things which we wouldn’t dare do any other day of the year.
Yeah, it’s a bit of a mixed bag, isn’t it?
Personally, what I was most confronted by this Valentine’s Day was my Facebook newsfeed.
Now, as many of you may know I am a self-confessed cheese. Quite simply, I love all things cheesy and cute. Yes, it’s fairly terrible – I’m well aware. Despite this, the amount of love-themed paraphernalia plastered all over Facebook over Valentine’s Day was beyond my limits. Seemingly every man, woman, guinea-pig and brand I had ever liked had to chip in their pink coloured five cents. My eyes felt violated by the sheer amount of hearts and roses on my screen to the point where I actually found it repulsive.
Yes, that’s right: the girl who loves all things cheesy became the Grinch of Valentine’s Day simply from scanning social media. That, darlings, is what we call “the power of love”.
Well, unfortunately for me I realised earlier this year that this isn’t the only area where I have some fairly prominent double standards…
See, whenever I’m even vaguely loved up I am not only into the guy, I’m also seriously into the PDAs. All of that dopamine released into my system means that I totally forget about the fact that I am even in public… let alone the fact that my fellow civilians didn’t ask to witness my public displays of affection… but I forget all of this because I’m far too intoxicated. Or “Drunk in Love” as Bey and Jay-Z would say.
Bus? Boat? Plane? Train? The bus stop? The traffic lights? The park? The communal table at that bar?
Nothing is sacred, cherubs. And for that I apologise. Sincerely. I really do… but when I’m in the moment, I feel like I’m in a rom com or an iconic moment like this…
Robert Doisneau, 1950, Le baiser de l’hôtel de ville, 1950.
But when it’s someone else’s PDA I turn into a combination of two Manhattan brunettes: Marnie and Blair…
Uhh… Yeah… So… somewhat hypocritical. Look, I’m sorry. I really am. And to the passersby that I have inflicted my own PDAs upon in the past? Yeah, I’m sorry to you all, too… but the thing is, is that I only remember to say sorry when I’m single and I see a couple making out from the corner of my eye.
Look, I’m not that bitter. I would actually deny being bitter at all. I am very happy for people that are madly into each other to the extent that the world feels off balance and as though it’s melting. Evidently, I kind of adore PDAs – but only on the condition that I am a participant. PDAs are not a spectator sport.
As I said, double standards.
I’ve been trying to understand what it is about (other peoples’) PDAs which bothers me and I think I have reduced it down to this: I feel a twinge of jealousy. No, not the coolest thing to admit, is it? There are two people who are both really attracted to each other. Two people who probably still have that nervousness and anxiety of the beginning of a relationship. Everything’s new and fresh, brimming with a whirlwind of lust and potential.
Or perhaps I’m reading too much into things and they’re just two drunk strangers.
Either way, who am I to resent someone else getting a taste of that intoxicating dopamine?