Lord knows, I’m no prude. Trust me on this one. Really. 
I’ve been known to enjoy the occasional hug and kiss in public along with the best of them. 
There is a time and a place for everything, people.
Aside from a hug and an air-smooch when greeting a dear or long-lost friend, can we please knock off the Public Displays of Affection (aka PDA)?
Truth be told, PDA is a bit of a misnomer, actually. It is not the ‘affection’ to which I object. Not really.
Mind you, depending on the people involved, even the occasional goo-goo eyes and blushing smirk can be a bit stomach-turning… but I tolerate it. I look away. I suddenly become engrossed in the cocoa design sprinkled on the foam of a nearby latte.
In the interest of love and the continuation of the species, I employ a bit of wilful blindness now and again, I admit.
If that was all there was to it, I would not have any strenuous objections to how most right-thinking members of society choose to comport themselves in public when bewitched, bothered and bewildered.
Alas, that is not all there is to it. Not by a long shot, I can assure you.
Most people can take the hand-holding. The cutesy-baby talk… that’s harder to handle.
But it’s the making out in public that really gets to me and, I suspect, everyone else except the people making out.
You’ve all seen them. The guy on the street corner who looks like he’s trying to suck his girlfriend’s ribs up through her neck. The couple who seem to believe that the back seat of a bus is some kind of public transportation love nest. The pair who have not quite figured out that unless there is a rather generous piece of gingham in front of them, the entire Italian restaurant, including the children, can see exactly who is grabbing what under the table!
It’s the obscene osculation and grotesque groping that makes one want to woof one’s cookies. The ‘oh lord he’s chucking his tongue down her throat’ horror that makes one want to wash out the old eyeballs. The silent scream as a crass hand disappears down someone else’s pants.
And spare me the ‘you’re just jealous’ shtick, OK, because most of the people I see engaging in PDA are not exactly fashion model types. In fact, there seems to be a direct correlation between the amount of PDA and the repellent aspect of those engaged therein. They are, in fact, just the type of people who simple-mindedly chalk all negative reaction up to either ‘envy’ or ‘fear.’
Let us draw our line in the cappuccino foam, people!
Let us promulgate the Anti-PDA message loudly and clearly!
When you see PDA happen… wherever, whenever…do not stand idly by! Take action! Make loud retching sounds! Shout, “Oh, the humanity!” Turn a hose on the offending (and offensive) parties. Do something!
Only by direct and forceful intervention can we make our little slice of the world a better place.
 Full Disclosure: I am still somewhat queasy from the Valentine’s Day fallout and this year’s detonation has been particularly hard on my system. I’m afraid it may have, in some tiny way, coloured my usual stalwart objectivity.
 Full Confession: I have in the past also engaged in some wildly inappropriate PDA with my dear friend, CFD, who must be asking, “Who are you? And what have you done with Vampyre Fangs!!??”