Signs That You Might Be Kinky

There’s no such thing as “disposable” chopsticks.

Your wooden spoon has become lost in an alternate dimension. It used to be in your kitchen, you swear it, but the celestial ether swallowed it. There’s literally no other explanation for its disappearance.

You spend your hikes cutting off the perfect bendy branch, then dumping it when you find a more perfect bendy branch. Repeat ad infinitum.

No, you can’t get that vitamin B injection today because… because… your pain threshold is too high. And your jeans are permanently welded to your ass. Your butt ran off with the wooden spoon yesterday and you’ve yet to find either of them.

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Your boyfriend tests his shampoo on his chest hairs before using it on his head.

Your boyfriend has three random bald patches on his chest, though you know not why. Maybe he’s using the wrong brand of shampoo. Maybe if he bought you the perfect stilettos the shampoo might decide to stop creating bald patches. Shampoo is snippy that way.

When you’re at the dentist, you think about last night’s sex as a coping mechanism.

Your buzzy toy is too important to be left out of your will.

So is your wooden spoon.

And that cane–um, you mean stick–you found on a hike once.

You’re in marriage therapy with your belt because it had a traumatic year and isn’t capable of intimacy right now, which you totally understand, obviously, but sometimes you wonder if its really just too selfish to fulfil its side of the relationship.

You visit hardware stores during your lunch break. Hell, if your belt ever gets past its bullshit, you’ll probably get married in a hardware store.

You get wet when Nine Inch Nails starts playing at bars.

You have an oddly-placed hole in your garage door, which is totally for passing secret notes to neighbourhood visitors. What? What other use could it possibly serve? Hmm?

When you hear the term “50 shades of grey,” you stab things.

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