Call me naive, but I’ve always sort of interpreted this discourse as being a kind of metaphor for being overpowered by desire itself, giving in to something natural and incredible but which, for women certainly, has been shrouded in taboo, stricture, repression, whatever for millennia. Marriage after all was about…

I used to have regular sex with a man who was the lay of my life. Nobody before him treated sex, or me, the way he did. It was always a conversation between us, a kind of communication between us that comes to mind every single time a NotAllMenner tells me enthusiastic consent is some kind of passion killer, which…

So the real question is, what did the salad spinner have to do with any of this?

Ok. Ahem.

So is mine. Except my undercrackers don’t bunch up in it, and it doesn’t belong to a maniacal sex offender. His baggy face as well. Ugh.

Stop!!! The horror!!! My arse is better than that, and it’s terrible.

Gross. Everything about him is gross. Every time I see that picture of him playing tennis in his white gear, it haunts me for days.

He seems like Ghandi by comparison. Fuck.

Gross. Gross. Gross. Didn’t they paint his “skin” to look like that?

Jesus. Watched the video. Jesus.

It’s a video? I didn’t even realise, so distracted by that eye.

You are so welcome. I’m here all week.

This is why we should take up cocaine. It will be like the 80s, and Prince will be alive again.

I would if it was the kind we used to call soap, that just made you giggle through your nose. For hours. Really, at nothing. That kind of oblivion would be charming.

I would if it was the kind we used to call soap, that just made you giggle through your nose. For hours. Really, at nothing. That kind of oblivion would be charming.

The hair flapping in the wind was the worst bit. It made me convinced he’s a zombie-robot and therefore not the worst we have seen yet. Not by a long stretch.

This is the best thread ever. Ever.

Tru dat. It’s a sad day in a young woman’s life when she realises her salad spinner is broken. Not sad enough to go next door and borrow one, however.

There you go. Better already.

Yikes. Does she climb up the curtains too?