one of those abdominal-enhancing episodes of laughter erupted when i learned that James decided I might possibly be the girl for him when, having unexpectedly encountered a comic-con at a Howard Johnson hotel in Delray Beach, Fl in which we were staying for the duration of a nearby academic conference, just days after he had declared emphatically that he did not "consider me his girlfriend" and wanted "to see other people" after I exchanged saliva with a handful of women and, evidently, one man, though my hippocampus failed to record the incident, before asking him if we could "pretend I'm not on birth control so that I (could) have (his) babies", i expressed interest in and a willingness to purchase and employ ornately decorated paddles for use in sexual rituals prominently displayed in a booth (wo)manned by two ladies dressed in renaissance-themed regalia.

if only i had known that would do the trick.