So here’s a weird confession: Ever since I adopted a dog back in December, my sex life has been dwindling. Since my manslice and I live in a studio space, our pup is within an arm’s reach at all times. We started off sleeping him in a crate, and there’s nothing sexy about doing—well, anything–while a melody of soft whimpers runs continuously in the background. Not exactly mood music. So sex was stalled out temporarily.

We figured as he got older, the pup would mellow out a bit, which did happen. Now that he can snooze through the night, he has graduated to the floor, and he sleeps pretty soundly—until any hint of activity reaches his (adorable) ear-range.

We tried to ignore him for a while, but ever since the awkward time he started gently tonguing my foot while I held down bottom, well, sex has been infrequent. Or silent. Or hurried. It feels like high school. We’re stealing away to fellate in the bathroom or having hushed, rushed, bottom lip biting sessions because our parents are sleeping down the hall. Except it’s not our parents, it’s our dog.

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So you’re vegan, and your partner isn’t. Or maybe your an omnivore, or a vegetarian, and your partner is a vegan. Or maybe you’re an everything eater and your partner is gluten-free. Or maybe you’re gluten-free and your partner is allergic to nuts, or soy, or dairy, or…

See where I’m going with this? Sometimes our dietary restrictions (and ethical POVs) just don’t match up with the views of the people we like to spend our time with.

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