You attend Take Back the Night rallies.

You take a buddy along on date nights with the wife.

You’re frequently caught “journaling” deep thoughts at a local coffeehouse.

You’re frequently caught Googling “deep penetration” at a coworker’s desk.

You smoke pot with friends while camping.

You smoke pot with your dog in the garage.

You read Kurt Cobain’s journals aloud to your roommate.

You watch the Pussycat Dolls reality show on mute.

You hold your girlfriend’s purse during joint shopping trips.

You put a hold on your wife’s bank account after her shopping trips.

You keep She Comes First in the nightstand drawer.

You open “sluts cumming hard” spam.

You offer to pick up and drop off the babysitter.

You demand to pick up and drop off the babysitter.

You dress in his-and-her Halloween costumes.

You’ve been a pimp three years running.

You spend spring break backpacking in Vermont.

You plan an extended layover on your way home from a business trip.

You scold the kids to tuck in their shirts.

You wear sweatpants at Thanksgiving as part of a new “maverick” dress code.

You protested the first Gulf War.

You change the channel when you hear “Iraq.”

You feel guilty masturbating in the shower.

You feel fine rubbing one out next to your bedmate.

You proudly took a four-month paternity leave from a high-pressure job.

You suggest firing the housekeeper until your wife goes back to work.

You get weepy at the end of Nora Ephron movies.

You abruptly quit your wife’s book club.

You refuse to get lap dances on “moral grounds.”

You don’t shower off the body glitter from the champagne room.

You call to say you’ll be home late.

You turn off the phone at 8 P.M.—and later claim the battery died.