“She had two blueberries for eyes, and hair the color of strawberries. Too bad our love never made it past the kitchen and into the bedroom (or garage).”

“I wash my hair with strawberry jelly, because my favorite thing to eat for breakfast is lunch. It’s never too late to love someone, but sometimes it is too early.”

“Her hair was strawberry blond, and she had the shape of a popsicle stick: turn her sideways and she practically disappeared.”

“Women are like convertibles: They should be topless. Also, they should stay in the garage. I mean kitchen. No, I mean bedroom. Damnit, I guess they can roam freely about the house.”

“She had a lot of face and chin. She had pewter-colored hair set in a ruthless permanent, a hard beak and moist eyes with the sympathetic expression of wet stones.”

“I have never liked the phone. Ten years ago, during a misguided fit of self-improvement, I pasted smiley-faced stickers on the phone in my bedroom and on the one in the kitchen. Then I typed out two labels and taped them to the handsets. “It’s an opportunity, not an attack,” they read.”