Alfred Kinsey believed that human sexuality could be charted on a scale of 0 to 6, with 0 being “Exclusively heterosexual” and 6 being “Exclusively homosexual.” Owing to changing cultural boundaries and advanced research, Kinsey’s scale has recently been expanded:

So heterosexual that you think all other heterosexuals should be shot, because they seem a little gay.

So heterosexual that when a tax return or a loan application asks your gender you reply, “Straight.”

So heterosexual that the thought of two people of the same sex having intercourse doesn’t disgust you; it confuses you—“Wait a minute, if they’re both girls, which one falls asleep immediately afterward while the other one keeps babbling about her day?”

So heterosexual that when you go to see “Hugh Jackman: Back on Broadway” you can’t understand why he doesn’t just use his steel Wolverine claws to kill his backup dancers.

Heterosexual, yet still able to read the Times’ Arts & Leisure section without asking, “Who are Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin? School-board members from Staten Island?”

Heterosexual, but still willing to understand, at least theoretically, why two women having sex aren’t just practicing until their husbands get back from their golf date.

Heterosexual, yet still able to wear colors other than brown, olive green, and navy blue (but never pink or yellow, because you’re not some goddam circus clown).

Heterosexual, but sometimes fantasizes about bathing.

Heterosexual, but once, at college, glimpsed a roommate naked and thought, If everyone else in the world were dead, I would have sex with that person, as long as we both kept saying, “But everyone else is still dead, right?”

Heterosexual, but once, while serving in the military, made love with a same-sex partner, and afterward said either “I was so drunk,” “Wait—does that count as sex?,” or “Whoa. At least now I can check that off my bucket list, along with hot-air ballooning.”

Heterosexual, but during sex with one’s spouse often pictures the spouse with different genitalia sprouting from his or her forehead. This is not to be confused with imagining your spouse’s forehead as a place to hold keys, or to hang up your windbreaker.

Heterosexual, but while on business trips will frequently have intercourse with same-sex partners, primarily because they know the best local restaurants.

You identify as bisexual because you think it will double your chances of getting a date for Saturday night.

You identify as bisexual because you think it sounds French.

So bisexual that you fantasize not only about both Brad and Angelina but also about Regis and Kelly.

So bisexual that you get Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin confused.

Almost too bisexual, because you keep approaching straight married couples on the subway and murmuring, “The answer is yes.”

Homosexual, but occasionally attracted to the opposite gender, just to get your mom’s hopes up.

Homosexual, but willing to look at a member of the opposite sex without howling, “Dear God in Heaven, what is that?”

Homosexual, but sometimes still fantasizes about kissing someone of the opposite sex, as an item on a scavenger hunt.

Homosexual, but willing to speak to heterosexuals without muttering, under your breath, “Have you ever even been to a museum?”

So homosexual that both partners can achieve orgasm just by debating dream casting for the next revival of “Follies.”

So homosexual that you refer to you and your partner’s genitalia as “matchy-matchy.”

So exclusively homosexual that you made an “It Gets Better” video aimed at kids who were raised in homes without stacks of coffee-table books.