Tomorrow is a day of love. Aww. For those enjoying coupledom there’s the gifts and the kisses and the predictable arguments and hurt feelings if the expected gifts and kisses don’t live up to expectations. At least being a singleton I don’t have to deal with the expectations. Ms. Bridget Jones and I can settle into a quiet evening alone with a box of See’s truffles, painting our nails and enjoying a mud mask.
But I’m totally willing to admit that I miss a good cuddle. And a good neck nibble. And a snog and a friendly massage and playing footsies under the covers. Hmm, yeah, those were the days. And those days can happen again, but the point is, how do we like-minded individuals, savvy to the Mraztafarian lifestyle, find each other? How can we connect out in public, among those who appear normal on the outside, but are actually dull or mean or Canadian on the inside? (Kidding! Love those Canuks!)
Mrazophiles, being a low-key bunch, don’t accessorize with red bracelets, yarmulkes, crosses or other required clothing or faith-based bling. And since we can’t identify each other by sight, we’re going to have to resort to actual human interaction. From now on, if you want to find out if someone is a member of the Order of Mraz you’ll have to get close and whisper, “Snuggle me delicious?”
If they’re cool like us, they’ll give you a simple smile and then a lingering embrace. If not, they’ll think you’re a bit touched in the head. That’s ok, because we then revert back to the teaching that it’s ok to be uncool. You can throw out a, ”Zim be doo we doo zah smoo rah,” and they’ll assume you’re in a religious delirium, speaking in tongues, which you will be, and it’s all good.
Laying awake in lust,