I am a classic 'Star Trek' fanatic.
What's better, I wonder - to be a toy for the humans, or to control your own destiny , even if the only way to do so is suicide?
Wherever I went, I was on the wrong end of the stampede.
The handwriting was a girl’s. I mean, you can tell. That enchanted cursive.
There was no word in the dictionary adequate to describe the sensation other than sensational.
Perhaps it's not that I'm frigid-- it's that once I decide I like a guy, I turn into a raging idiot, unfit for public appearances.