But, you're his son," I said, trying really hard to hate him. "You're the son of Satan. Literally." "And you are the stepdaughter of Denise Davidson." Wow. That was a bit harsh, but, "Okay, point taken.

Man, I want to be someone's forbidden fruit." "Well, you are pretty fruity.

We really should get some X-rays,” the EMT said. “You just want to fondle my extraneous body parts,” I said to the EMT.

I pointed in the general vicinity of my left ovary, "This is Beam Me Up." Then to my right. "And this is Scotty." Garret chuckled and buried his face in his hands. He asked.

I know how you feel. I’ve been analyzed to death as well. Not, like, professionally, though I did date a psych major who said I had attention issues. Or at least that’s what I think he said. I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, where was I?

Maybe I needed sensitivity training. I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.

I had a horrible feeling my leg was broken. If it wasn’t, it had a lot of explaining to do.