Then I flip Kate the finger. Immature, I know, but apparently we’re now both functioning at the preschool level, so I’m guessing it’s okay. Kate sneers at me. Then she mouths, You wish. Well – she’s got me there, now doesn’t she?

After this? Heaven’s going to be a major disappointment.

Although my mind recognizes that Kate Brooks is now my rival, apparently my cock hasn’t gotten the memo.

Have you ever noticed some of the worst sicknesses in history have a lyrical sound to them? Words like malaria, diarrhea, cholera.

For a second, I’m stunned. She wanted this. Just as badly as I did. And I wasted all that time eating chicken Marsala – when I could have been eating her. God. Damn.

Flowers. Lots of women say they don’t want them. But every woman is happy when they get them. Which is why I’ve arranged to have them delivered to Kate’s office, every hour on the hour. Seven dozen at a time. That’s one dozen for every day we were apart.

Whoever invented karaoke is evil. They should be shot between the eyes with a dull bullet.

Newsflash, ladies: We can’t read your thoughts. And frankly, I’m not entirely sure I’d want to. The female mind is a scary place to be.

I’ve gone cold turkey. Completely. I haven’t even jerked off. Not once. In nine frigging days. I think the buildup of semen is starting to affect my brain. Like sugar to a diabetic.

Remember when I said all guys talk to their friends about sex? Well, we do. But no guy talks to his friends about sex with his girlfriend. Ever.