The Call of the Wild

Here we are, with the lights down low.  You've said (some of) the right things, I've pretended to laugh at your jokes, and we're both wearing fewer pieces of clothing than we started out with. At this point, we're on the homestretch, and it's pretty much a no-brainer.

Until I inhale. And wish that I hadn't.

Listen, if this were the year 54,790 BCE, and you and I were roaming the Serengeti in search of mates, I would be positively giddy upon smelling your, uh, pheromones. Happily would I follow my nose to the source of your olfactory buffet, and the continuation of both of our genes would be a done deal.

But, on this night in the 21st century, I hope you won't be too offended if I just ask you to put your pants back on and go home. Somehow, the topiary you've been cultivating "down there", for what looks like the last ten years, ruined the mood.