I think it’s sweet that you love each other, I really do. I’m happy to see status updates, tweets, and blog posts about your courtship, engagement, a trip, a wedding. Not only can I handle it, I’m heartened by it.
But my support of your relationship does not mean I want to be slimed with your cyber makeout sessions, oversharing, and sweet nothings all goddamned day. Tweeting about how much you miss your flaxen-haired beauty—even though you’ve only been apart an hour (which I know because you tweeted that too)—or updating your Facebook status to detail what an incredible night you had with your Sweetpea or Huggy Bear makes me, in this order, 1) roll my eyes, 2) choke back my breakfast, and 3) want to share the love. Specifically, I dream of playing cupid, pulling out a crossbow, and piercing you through the heart, or at least your fingers.
Take a note from Shakespeare: Speak low if you speak love. In other words, keep it in your pants and send your true love an e-mail. We don’t want to see that sap. That’s what porn, Jane Austen novels, and Reese Witherspoon movies are for, duh.