An Open Letter to People Who Still Use Too Much Tongue

Have you ever heard of wash- ing machine syndrome? I hadn't neither. Until last weekend, when I heard, “It was like making out with a washing machine.” That is a direct quote from a friend, recounting a late–night rendez–vous with a gal. Take a second to think about the concept. Like, really consider what that term would entail. Soak? Rinse? Spin? Um...EW. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

We've all had those nights....we’ve all been victims to the crime. The perpetrator decides your mouth and face needs cleaning. You're mouth feels just a little more chapped than it usually does in the morning. I guess it’s just preference...but me? I HATE TONGUE. Seriously, I cannot express how much I despise saliva. So sa–leave–a me alone, tongue master flash.

Now, let me give you an adequate description of the situation I am speaking of. Whilst engaging in sexual contact with another being, your counterpart proceeds to use his or her tongue and the rest of his or mouth to *quite impressively* cover your entire face with, well, spit. I would have said “kissing juice” but that honestly got super weird really fast and I need to check myself. 

Okay.

You think you know what you're doing but no, you know nothing Jon Snog. What is a kiss? French kiss, first—or second—base, snogging, hook up.... All dirty dirty things you do with your mouth. The washing machine kiss, however, leaves me sticky gross and the wrong type of wet. I don’t care what your friends said in middle school. There will be no alphabet spelling in my mouth. Or rather, on my face. Nope, no, no. no.