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How do I love thee? Let me smell your panties.
A good test to determine if and how much you love your girlfriend is what I call the Laundry Test. If you shack up with a chick, or even if you don’t but you spend a lot of time together at each other’s places, you will eventually do a load of her laundry (one load deserves another HEH). Usually this will happen when she tosses her clothes into your pile, and by then it’s more work to fish her stuff out than it is to do the whole mess at once. After a few times, she’ll just ask if you can wash her clothes when you wash your own clothes. You will consent. Don’t fret it. It’s no demerit against your masculinity score if you don’t maintain 100% PURE PATRIARCHY all the time.
When you drop her unmentionables into the washing machine, do you act as if your hands are tongs for transporting nuclear waste? Does your face scrunch up and do you force your thoughts elsewhere? After you pull her clothes out of the dryer, do you toss them in an undifferentiated heap, annoyed with the chore?
You don’t love her. Not like you used to, at any rate.
Alternately, when handling her soiled snatch hammocks do you sneak in a sniff? Gaze at the centerpiece fabric for a moment, wondering if her tube lube has left a Rorschach test of romance for you to decipher? Rub the fungal foundational between your fingers? When pulling her dainties out of the dryer, do you caress them individually, allowing the warm scented fabric to linger under your nose. Do you perhaps, when even your God isn’t watching, press your lips against her slips and inhale like you’re taking an epic bong rip? Do you longingly admire her cleaned G-strings, and fold them neatly in a pile, enjoying a moment to reflect on the happiness she has brought to your life?
You love her. Like you used to, and as you will until the Wall fights you to wrest your love away.