Cuddle Parties--what fresh hell?

That's it. I give up. I am officially dropping out of the twenty-first century. I don't belong here. I've suspected this for some time, but it became crystal clear to me today when I was flipping through a Marie Claire, and tucked in between an informative article called "Prostitution Gives Me Power" and and a fascinating piece about Angelina Jolie's love of tattoos and international adoption was a story about the latest hot trend in New York:The Cuddle Party
"What is a cuddle party?" you might be wondering. Well, if you haven't read about it in Marie Claire, The New York Daily News or The Free Republic yet, chances are you're as clueless as I was. According to Marie Claire, "Cuddle Parties are touted as the new way to explore nonsexual intimacy. Adults rarely touch without it being eroticized--here by exchanging simple hugs, we experience a more innocent kind of contact."

I'm sorry, give me a second, I need to wipe up the coffee that I just sprayed all over my monitor.

OK, yeah, I know, it's nice to be hugged. We miss it when we're single and it's not always comfortable asking our pals to give us long full body contact bear hugs. For me the absence of good hugs is the most difficult thing about not being in a relationship. Perhaps, in my twenties, when I was giving it up to anyone who bought me a drink just so I could get a good hug once in a while, this might have been a helpful service...I can see why this might seem appealing at first. But let's get real. We're talking about lying on smelly sweaty yoga mats with a bunch of strangers in pajamas. We're talking about lying in very close proximity with people we might not talk to if they approached us in a bar. We're talking about getting "nonsexual" backrubs from people who might think patchouli oil smells good! We're talking about my worst nightmare.

Hugs from people of the opposite sex (and occasionally the same sex) have two effects on me. They either make me feel vaguely uncomfortable, or they turn me on. Oh, I don't need to jump into bed with anyone who gives me a good hug, but to me, a really good non-familial hug can't possibly be nonsexual.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm just narrow-minded. I guess you'll have to decide for yourselves. Go ahead, read the cuddlemonials (I am shitting you not). I'll be over here in my time machine, with my arms wrapped tightly around myself, rocking back and forth.