Just Say NO to Making Out with Morons

So, you’re going out tonight. To a bar or party you know will have prospective hook-ups. That’s the whole reason for going out, really, seeing as how you’ve been so busy with that summer internship / job / getting ready for college that you haven’t had much time for a dude. Maybe you’re not necessarily looking for sex, buy some physical attention on a sweaty dance floor never hurt anyone.

Most people end up making out in public because they’re A) pretty drunk and/or B) really need some ass. Even those of us who consider ourselves slightly shy when it comes to PDA throw caution to wind after a few vodka tonics and one or two cuts from Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

It’s harmless, we tell ourselves (if we’re still of the right mind to do so) while making out with a stranger, everyone else is doing it!

Now, I won’t ask you if you’d jump off a bridge if everyone else was doing it (that question never wins ANY argument because it’s ridiculous), but I tell you why I’m no longer a believer in the random make-out.

I came to the realization during one. A particularly horrible one. I mean, it was A.W.F.U.L. No one had ever taught this kid how to do anything. He was a poor, clueless bastard who—when he wasn’t obstructing my breathing—was rambling about working for VH1 and being able to get me into a music video they were shooting the next day.

He was right in the middle of explaining why he was so much more than an office bitch when my mind snapped to a vivid understanding: if the guy of my dreams was watching me right now, he’d think I was actually interested in the tool I was making out with. And then he’d probably walk away.

If I had been attracted to VH1 Idiot, or even interested in the slightest, maybe the making out wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But I wasn’t anything except slightly disgusted, and in my sober moments, consider myself a classy broad. Dancing with someone is one thing, but allowing them to totally violate your personal mouth space is another. I don’t carry on conversations with morons, so why would I allow one to stick his tongue down my throat?

There and then I decided to stop my little habit. I haven’t regretted the decision once, and find leaving clubs without feeling a strange urge to spit is a nice perk to keeping my lips away from losers.

What do you think, lovelies?

Are stranger make-out sessions fun and frivolous, or dumb and disgusting?