“Don’t think about a pink elephant with purple polka dots!” My students burst out laughing whenever I say this, with faux-seriousness, because it’s impossible to heed the injunction. The very mention of such a comical creature causes the image of a pink elephant with purple polka dots to spring to mind with a reflexive immediacy that bypasses all rational thought. The same is true of the emotionally-charged categories we use to make sense of what’s happening to us. For instance, whenever I smell freshly-baked bread, I remember the bread my mother made everyday from scratch in the early afternoon. I remember the way its intoxicating smell permeated every corner of our little basement apartment on Airlie Street. I remember the way you could smell it in the building, long before you got to our apartment. At times, you could even smell it on the street, long before you got to our building! In short, whenever I smell freshly-baked bread, I’m 7-years-old again. Likewise, whenever I burn my tongue, I remember the first time I burned my tongue, when I was 12-years-old, on some hot chocolate at Bad Boys, the 24-hour doughnut shop on Wellington Street. When you’re having an emotionally-charged experience, you remember every other experience you’ve had of that kind. It happens instantaneously, automatically—with a reflexive immediacy that bypasses all rational thought. As such, asking your partner, in the middle of an argument, to refrain from bringing up ancient history—that is, bad experiences of a similar stamp—is about as silly as asking them to refrain from thinking about pink elephants with purple polka dots.
—John Faithful Hamer, The Myth of the Fuckbuddy (2016)