We get it. You’re foaming at the mouth over the fact that you are in a brand-new, fairy-tale relationship with your high school’s most wanted. The honeymoon phase has been treating you like a princess, and every green-eyed girl is rear-ending your Happy Coaster. You simply cannot keep this to yourself–you must advertise the fact that you are swimming in euphoria, which is perfectly commonplace. However, there are a number of things couples just shouldn’t do in public.
Match in every possible way. With the exception of the occasional witty t-shirts, coordinating outfits is the sloppy shortcut towards Tacky Avenue. Dressing identically screams ‘I have no sense of individuality and the way I present myself visually is entirely dependent on my current shag.’
Smurfing… my favourite role-play.
So just. Don’t. But if it is not within your capabilities to simply dress the way you would if you were single, at the very least sport a morphsuit. Then nobody will manage to pin a face onto your dreadful acts of social suicide.
I hear you can actually still breathe in these.
Treat your partner’s face like it’s a buffet. Intimacy is practiced by many and is a natural prospect of coupledom… that should be kept in the closet. A hug? Cute. A kiss on the cheek? Adorable. Diving into your boyfriend’s face like it’s shrimp fried rice? You should start dining in private. (Also, a movie theatre is not a brothel, but if you’re going to use it as one, please don’t sit next to me)
No you hang up first! There are a number of petty arguments I’ve picked up on at restaurants and shopping malls that have induced an irritated head-shake. What type of cheese should be used for the pasta. Which dress makes you look less fat. But the whole ten-minute ‘oh my God, you put down the phone!’ tirade deserves a high five. In the balls. With a porcupine. That spits acid. That garners the same effect as mustard gas. There are so many other things to worry about that actually matter. And who decides to get a life first is not one of them.
Flooding everybody’s Facebook news feed with virtual displays of affection. Publicly announcing the inextinguishable fire between you and your James Dean is, admittedly, pretty sweet. But updating the entire nation regarding your stay-at-home couple time via Twitter calls for a chat room. ‘Adding flour into the cookie mix with my love!’ Fascinating. Please narrate in detail your space cake escapade because we are all too interested in the gory details of your soon-to-be kinky batter fight.
Please tell us more.
I especially don’t want to see photos of your sleeping girlfriend. Remind me to padlock my front door tonight.
Inserting one another into every single conversation. The need for friends to accept your partner and their quirks is a natural desire. You will try and convince me. I know. But if you are going to do so, please refrain from name dropping every two minutes. Oh, he just adores Coldplay. Like I do. He dips his apple slices in Nutella. Like I do. I’m pretty sure he folds his toilet paper into a little square post-shit just like I do. I get it. Your boyfriend is the bomb dot com.
Pitting friends against one another by catapulting your issues into their bubble of personal space. Some problems are too hard to face alone. Unwanted pregnancies. Crashing your parents’ car. Whether to see Miley Cyrus in concert or not because if there is any evidence of you doing so, you will become your entire country’s new social pariah. But the whole ‘it’s me or him’ act is unacceptable. Putting friendships on the line because of your half-assed relationship is a definite no-no. Especially if I know I’d totally pick him over you.
So please, to some extent, keep the TMI details of your relationship to yourself, kiddies. There is something wonderful about mystery. Secrecy. Some things should be precious to you and you only.