Tonight I wanted to give someone a cuff. A good, hard one, but I opened a bottle of luscious red instead. After all, I am a pacifist.
I read a headline this morning about “Cuffing Season”, accompanied by a photo of handcuffs with a big, blood-red heart in the middle. I could hardly wait to hear about something that looked like it was gonna be sexy-like, and teased my memory back to one particularly creative lover. Maybe – just maybe this old girl was going to learn a new trick or two.
I settled in after my run and was quickly snapped back to reality. As I kept reading, my spidey sense told me that this wasn’t going to be so sexy after all, and I began to learn about “cuffing season”. You see, I grew up in a village smack dab in the middle of nowhere. I have heard of “hunting season”, and cuffing season isn’t so different, minus the camouflage, doe urine and pick-up trucks. The reality of cuffing season is not nearly as appealing as the images the photo of the handcuffs conjured up.
According to www.urbandctionary.com cuffing Season is; “the time of year in which more people are “talking” and start going out”. Cuffing? Really? That’s it? If you’re not easily offended, I recommend looking up cuffin, cuffing and cuffing the carrot on www.urbandictionary.com I had a great laugh reading this.
Cuffing season you say? It made me think about being cuffed. Cuffed as in the urban dictionary definition. Otherwise I’d be in like a dirty shirt. But cuffing? Really? Is that what we, the urban population really think of being in a relationship? That it’s rough like being cuffed? That we only need a mate to keep warm during the cold months, and buy us presents at Christmas and accompany us to Thanksgiving dinners?
I’m so good at doing the solo, only single-chick in the room thing, that I’m ok with not being “cuffed” to some dude just so I have a date. I’d rather not be cuffed and responsible for dragging around a man who (let’s consider all of the circumstances here) is just going through the motions in an effort to get laid, I won’t be bringing around again so-why-bother-with-the-introductions, or is purely man-circus entertainment pour moi. Cuffing after all can only be defined if it’s witnessed. Getting-laiders and back-up booty calls do not count. You remane nameless and faceless except for the girl talk names we give you like, “Remote Control Boy”, “The Old Guy”, “Mr. LongTongueSilver”, etc. Myself and my gal-pals don’t want these guys hanging around. Their job is to be on call.
Now, being “cuffed” to someone you’re head over heels with? What say you to that ever intelligent readers? Can we really call it being cuffed when it’s a mutual cuffing?
Personally, I’ve had more than my fair share of duds on the dating scene, but it hasn’t been all for naught. I’ve been practicing for the real thing. We ladies know when a man means business, and not just flowers, dates and romantic texts in order to get the carrot cuffed once in a while. We can smell sincerity like a buck smells doe urine.
We single-gals are happy biding our time with our black books until our (perhaps somewhat tarnished) knights with white cuffs show up and toss the idea of “cuffing” out the window.
Perhaps, in the mean time we’ll spruce up our lingerie drawers, and summon the ghosts of creative lovers past. Cuffing season my ass.