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That's the implied contract.
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Well, that wouldn't be the worst way
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to end an evening, would it?
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Well, um, I guess not.
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But, uh, what about the morning after,
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when we, uh, wake up with savage morning breath
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and really bad gas from all this beautiful stinky cheese?
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Will your morning wood last through our explosive diarrhea?
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Will your love see us through our hormonal fluctuations,
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perimenopause, and total ovarian shutdown?
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Because we're women, guys.
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And we fucking age.