Since I could never make myself understood in the ambiguous but admittedly rich language of amatory secretions and chemical signals, I've turned instead to a personally unique combination of colognes, aftershaves, and flashcards carried in a sleek billfold-like portfolio in burgundy full-grain leather that I ordered from the Levenger catalog. These cards can be whipped out in any situation, fished from the pocket of tossed pants at a moment's notice, ready to have scrawled upon them brief sexual bulletins in precise, succinct English, to be displayed whenever wordless messages in love's more atavistic universal languages might be misinterpreted or missed altogether or taken for something else entirely, like a fit or a seizure or a mild stroke. Certain common declarations can be preloaded to make things even easier. "Never do that foot thing again, I mean it." "I am freshly enema'd, do your worst." "You're hot but you seem a little off like maybe you're crazy? Not that that's a dealbreaker mind you and anyway everyone's a little crazy look at me for example ha ha." And so on. Because basically I've had it with me and meaningful glances and held stares and body language and come hither cigarette smoking and all that, I never know what anything means and when I guess I invariably guess wrong, horribly, excruciatingly wrong, and so it's up to me to introduce precision and clarity to such situations, and since I'm more comfortable shaving and writing than secreting and speaking, the flashcard method, accompanied by the aftershave method for accentuation and nuance, is really the way to go.