“If my skin wasn’t flesh, but was tinfoil, I’d probably not only be left-handed, but I’d be a leftover. I guess the real question is, Would you rather make love to me or make dinner?”

“As much as I want to make love to you, I’d rather make love to your clone.”

“If love came in a cardboard tube, I’d probably send it priority mail. But I’d make you pay for shipping.”

“If love were seaweed, I’d ask myself one question: Are you the sort of person who’d swim through it, or would you rather eat it? As for me, pass me my Speedo, and a spoon.”

“My hand found its way back to her knee. I hoped it was to comfort her. I’d hate to think that my right hand was straight. “Soon. I’ll call her this afternoon and get back to you.” She nodded. I removed my right hand, thankful that I was left-handed. I’d hate to have to try masturbating with a straight hand. It probably wouldn’t cooperate. And then where would I be?”

“And when we left Colorado last month, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever make another friend again.”“But then I came into your life. Sounds like fate to me.”