Cuddle Up…No Thanks

When God passed out the cuddling chip, I was chatting with the guy distributing shoes. I don’t feel I’ve missed out.

I did spend hours with little ones tucked around me and didn’t find that quite as cloying as the adult variety. One child inherited my genetic code—eschewing public displays, remaining decorum-filled in every situation. She also never has too much wine.

Another one? Not so much. There is no end to her need to cuddle, paw and snuggle. She will, for her own amusement, sit on my lap just to see how long I’ll last. And then she laughs.

It’s not like I don’t touch people—I’m not a complete troglodyte. But the bed is big enough for two for a reason. The Norwegian knew he had limited time for, yikes, spooning and other afterward canoodles. Two minutes is generous.

Imagine my surprise to find cuddling, of all things, is a business. A thriving one. One thriving enough to be covered in the Wall Street Journal. There are people who actually do this for a living, Even more shocking? There are people who pay to have this done to them. In a strange bed. With a stranger. For 80 bucks an hour or 400 for an overnight gig. Whaaa? The brain envisions dirty hands, sheets belonging to God knows who and stray hairs. Egads.

People engaged in the activity swear it’s consensually non-sexual. It’s simply people enjoying good snuggles with those happy to dish them out. Platonic spooning sounds even worse than the regular kind. Clothing stays on and, good lord, people pay extra for tickles, squeezes and bear hugs.

It’s a trend, evidently. There are apps, freestanding stores and even a New York woman who snuggles in her own home. Brilliant girl. Devotees are planning a snuggle convention. There are plans for Cuddle Con somewhere in Oregon or another place where it rains a lot.

There is evidence that cuddling, snuggling, whatever you want to call wrapping your body with someone else’s as you begin to overheat, is good for you. Endorphins and all that. I get it. I just would rather pat you on the arm and tell you all is well, unless I know you in the old-fashioned sense. Even then you better get acquainted with your side of the bed. Even the little white cat knows the rules. She sleeps at a respectable distance, waiting until I wake to crawl upon my chest for a few moments. I have shit to do. I can’t be lying around all day.

There are positions, based on something known as “The Cuddle Sutra.” It’s real. Google it. Positions include the “68 1/2,” which is basically the other thing but with clothes on and mouths closed. “The Main Squeeze” features the girl with her legs wrapped about the guy’s waist; his head burrowed in, supposedly, her neck. A stranger? Pfft. The “Two Peas in a Pod” features one pea’s head resting squarely on the other pea’s ass. But it’s not sexual. A stranger’s head resting on your ass is therapeutic.

For aficionados, Cuddle Con is scheduled for Valentines Day. It’s platonic.