"Say," began Lucille one day over lunch, "weren't you going to go out with that
guy who played the French horn?"

"Yeah," said Diane morosely, stirring her iced tea.

"You were really looking forward to it, I remember. How'd it go?" Lucille
leaned forward eagerly.

"Actually he was a pretty nice guy," volunteered Diane reluctantly. "But there
was one real problem..."

"What was that?"

"Every time he kissed me, he wanted to shove his fist up my ass."