But I couldn’t help thinking—Who the hell eats bats? Probably nothing.

Comfort took a distant second to fashion where footwear was concerned. Unless of course, one was fleeing!

If I were a lesbian, I’d probably be one of those lipstick lesbians, which I of course had in my pocket for touch-ups later.

I sat in my brown-belted gi at the painted metal table outside of Einstein’s and Peet’s with Mr. Ho, my Kenpo Karate instructor in his black-belted gi, and my bronze, canine psychologist, wearing his/her Lacoste eyeglasses.

I can smack a ball-bearing between your abusive fiancé’s eyes before his wingtips hit the sidewalk.

From The Other Side, Uncle Roscoe was still exercising his Second Amendment rights. Protecting me from my stalker? Or was his gun going to get me killed?

So why not a woman, too—if I was dating her?

I was a small fish in a big sea of amorous deceit.

The gold cross around his neck lay itself upon me.