Friend: “You should go on a date with Edward.”
Me: “Nah, I’m gonna try to finish this year without dating — less risk of discovering I suddenly, viciously hate anyone else after I’ve slept with them. Seems like a good general life policy.”
Five more months of sexual deprivation should make for a very happy New Year’s date for whomever is around, though. (There’s a “ball drop” joke here somewhere, but I’m kind of tired.)
Part of the fun of this page is that I get to Google Pavlov’s experiments in relation to my clitoris. Even if the joke didn’t quite work, it still amuses me that I connected the two. In fact, I’m not sure what “Pavlovagina” would mean, exactly, but I think we can all agree it should mean something.
(If you wondered, this was the joke: “I’m reasonably sure this all has something to do with with going from an ex who couldn’t orgasm, even on her own, to ME. Now it’s like he’s one of Pavlov’s dogs and my clitoris is the bell. Like he gets a treat every time he sets it off.”)