Will I ever be happy again?”“Do we even know we’re happy when we’re happy?

My body speaks. Actually, it’s ready to shout itself hoarse.

My learning curve has had more squiggles than I counted on.

What a mealy-mouth. Windier than a bag of assholes.

I guess not everyone gets their Stonewall.

No matter what deal-breakers are negotiated upfront in a ménage, someone always ends up freaked out in a wicker chair across the room.

Just be careful of the what-ifs,” she warns. They’ll tumble in your head like laundry that won’t dry.

Life doesn’t have compartments.”“Don’t kid yourself. Niches and cubbyholes contain us,” I reply.

Pride starts with the penis.

So how old was Miss Brodie, when she was in her damn prime?