Blessed be this day, for cuffing season is finally over
Release your inhibitions, feel the rain on your tits
Hark the herald angles sing — at last we are free from the horrific shackles, the oppressive binds, the stifling constraints of a long, dark winter tethered to one, the rewards of which were just a companion at holiday parties and someone to bring to Thanksgiving to keep your grandma from questioning your sexuality and/or fertility countdown.
Things are different now: the sun is out. There's no need to grab the last partner standing, musical chairs-style, for a long hibernation of Netflix and Seamless. It was nice to have someone to take you ice skating and still want to fuck you after you've gained 15 pounds of holiday weight.
But the tides have changed. The weather is warm, you're shellacked in some iteration of subtle fake tan, and you've shed your bulky winter layers for something that toes that delightful little line between salacious and out-right slutty (tag yourself, I'm out-right slutty). You can dump your shitty stand-in boyfriend and help yourself to the sampler platter of men, women, whatever that present themselves oh so nicely on whatever rooftop bar you happen to venture to that night in search of fruity cocktails and sexual innuendo-filled banner.
To really capture the feeling of freedom, just play this song from the end of Gladiator where Maximus dies but finds freedom in death. In this instance, being stabbed by Hot Evil Joaquin Phoenix is breaking up with my boyfriend and the fields of Elysium are all the dicks I'm gonna encounter in Summer 2017. Listen:
Cuffing season is finally over, and now we are free.