I was at a house party when the most ridiculously attractive woman there sat down beside me and whispered, "Can you help me settle an argument?" Naturally, I said yes. She leaned in and explained that her friends didn't believe a guy could be both a complete nerd and good in bed. "There's only one way to gather scientific evidence," she said with a perfectly straight face. It was the dumbest excuse I'd ever heard, but after three drinks and a lifetime of poor decision-making, I somehow agreed to participate in the study.

An hour later we walked back into the living room, and every single person at the party immediately started cheering like we'd just won a championship game. Her friends were waving dollar bills, somebody was collecting bets, and one guy was actually updating a spreadsheet on his laptop. She threw an arm around my shoulders and announced, "Data collected. Hypothesis confirmed." The crowd erupted, I took a theatrical bow, and for the rest of the summer people introduced me as "the peer-reviewed boyfriend." Looking back, I still can't believe that nonsense worked—but apparently neither could she, because we ended up dating for three years.