When I first read about Professor Pavlov and his canine induced theories of conditioned behavior, I laughed. The whole thing sounded a bit silly to me. Now that I have a regrettable number of decades behind me I have come to realize how much on target he truly was. If you don’t happen to know about Pavlov and Pavlovian Theory, he was the Russian behaviorist who would ring a bell whenever he would feed his dog subjects. After they had time to associate the bell with food, he stopped serving food and just rang the bell. The dogs salivated just like they had good sense.

I think women are imbued with a knowledge of this theory at birth. They use it instinctively. It’s how they get us to do stuff. When I was married I remember coming home and sitting on the couch. My lovely wife would step into the kitchen and start doing the dishes. If one dish hit the sink a bit sharply my hair raised slightly on the back of my neck. When the second one hit my senses told me that coincidence was losing credibility and my nostrils flared slightly to take in more oxygen for the upcoming display of fight/flight syndrome that would soon be mine to demonstrate. I rarely waited around long enough for the third dish to hit because by then I had usually figured out what chore I’d forgotten and was making my way toward the offending trash can, lawnmower, dog or offspring in question. Late in the marriage I even got good at determining what my infraction was by the decibel level of the crashes.

I do not mean to suggest my ex had a monopoly on such practices. I suspect women have been sending Pavlovian messages, subliminal and otherwise, since we crawled out of the first bog. Of course many women would suggest that there was nothing subliminal about them. I would, of course, have begged to differ with my cave mistress but would freely abandon the argument as soon as the second clay bowl collided with the flat rock on which she knelt.

There are other subtle little telegrams that the female of the species enjoys sending. Some are harder to spot than others but failure to spot them, no matter how subtly proffered, comes at a heavy premium.

There is, for example, the wardrobe glance. Watch for it closely. If a woman’s eyes hesitate at your tie, then up to your eyes, then right back to your tie, there is but one course of action. Run, don’t walk, back to your closet for a fresh selection.

If you are sitting at the dinner table with guests and your significant other clears her throat, check all buttons and zippers and make sure you are using the proper utensil for the course being offered. If you are sure all is well in those arenas, offer your wife a lozenge or she may start slamming dishes.

I hope this serves male readers as a useful primer. Know that it comes to you at a price. The numerous and spiteful E-mails I will need to endure when this is published put you squarely and forever in my debt.