I’m not sure what it is, but somehow the idea of Justin Bieber being post-pubescent enough to date anyone kind of blows my mind. So when I see Selena Gomez out and about, my immature little mind-rascal keeps imagining Justin lazing around on her canopy bed being all, “Yeah, baby, that bra leotard with the fancy cummerbund is like mad sexy.”

And then it’s pretty much over for me, because any outfit that my imagination gives the Bieber Finger-Lickin’ Good Seal of BOOTY TIME has to be scorched from my memory banks immediately.