When you celebrate the 40th time your girlfriend has changed her hair color, this week. This celebration takes the form of first starting on her bed, until it becomes clear that she is incapable of satisfying you, so you switch to the bathroom, hoping a change of scenery will somehow help her along. After three hours of her trying, she will barely get you off, then you can make jokes about her technique for the next couple hours before you leave, laughing. You then must make jokes, for years, about that one day.
You: Wow, that was lame. You really pulled off 109th base, to the letter. What's with your hair? You change it every other hour.
Her: What do you expect? The hair dye sank into my brain, and now makes it impossible for me to do even the simplest of tasks.
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