They are everywhere: at grocery stores, local libraries, neighborhood parks and even schools across the country. I’m not referring to serial killers or infamous bank robbers – I’m talking about people infected by the growing epidemic of love.

I’ve recently picked up on the concept of “love goggles.” For those not in the loop, it is a type of swooning the lovesick partake in around their respective lovers. The worst part is, those infected fail to notice the side effects of their prolonged exposure, and gradually begin to accept their behavior as normal. School is suddenly thrown on the back burner, work becomes tedious and friends take a nosedive to the bottom of their priority lists. We all know the deer-in-the-headlights look as it is associated with surgically attaching oneself to someone else and losing any shred of personal freedom.

Since when did it become the norm to put the world on hold so one could forever live on cloud nine with their significant other? Lately it seems people are so absorbed in their own worlds of romance, they teeter on the precipice of sickening obsession. Perhaps “obsession” is a strong word, but it’s in the same ballpark.

For awhile, I was consistently on the receiving end of rain checks from a good friend of mine. Not because she was swamped with homework or because she had family emergencies to attend — it was much worse than that. As time progressed, it became routine. She would not dare trade time with him for time with anyone else. Of course, as her friend I tried to see it from her point of view. During the rare times we did hang out, I tried to mirror her giddiness whenever her boyfriend’s name showed up on her phone. But, in spite of my best performance, she could see right through me (I will never win an Oscar). After one too many canceled meetings, I snapped. If life had been a cartoon, steam would have mushroomed out of my ears, the top of my head would have inevitably popped off and I would have dropped an Acme anvil in her general direction.

For the record, I am not anti-love. I love love. Really. Believe it or not, I’m currently swooning because of a particular individual. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to yodel my feelings atop a mountain for all the world to hear – I yodel in private.

Honestly, there is only so much I can stomach from public displays of affection until I feel like I’m just one scene away from a pornographic video. There’s a time and place for everything, but my personal space is not one of them. I now consider myself a professional eye roller after hearing one too many “Baaaabe, I love you!” — sentiments often accompanied by a vomit-inducing, sing-songy voice.

To all those who consider their blossoming romance as an exception to the rule: Do you remember what it’s like having your eyes constantly barraged by the sight of couples gagging on each other’s tongues? Well, it’s about as entertaining as being chained to a chair, forced to watch the Justin Bieber movie on repeat. By all means, go crazed animal on each other — but do it in the bedroom. We shouldn’t all be subjected to the zoo.

—This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.