"You can count me out." he crossed his arms and leaned against the Maserati in such a way that made Jill know not to cross him again. But, despite the little voice screaming at her in her head, she did anyway. "Oh, come on, Finn, nothing's going to happen. Don't be a chicken." His features darkened. "No. I'm not going in there, and there's nothing you can say that will make me." she groaned inwardly; for 19, the guy sure could whine. "She isn't that bad, Finn." she said, exhausted with this argument. "N.O." he spelled it out for her,...
In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley. That was the foundation of his reputation. Whispered, announced, stated, introduced, it always provided a collective puckering of lips, a breathing of "oohs" and then sips of champagne as fingers were taken into hand, and warm, hearty pats on the back offered. What a way to enter a party, what a ticket into every party!
He never tired of these parties, the compliments on his swarthy, sun embraced flesh, and the women who plucked at his sleeves and asked what it was like up there, racing against clouds. A man could...
The first time I saw Tommy, I knew he was a total douche. I don't allow my sister to date douches; shit — no brother should. That's rule number 2.
Rule number 1, in case you are wondering, is that you don't interfere with your sister's romances. But I take exception with douches.
Of course, there's a perfectly civil way to address his low-life status without resorting to a politically un-savvy term like "douche," which can alienate the polite, women, and my parents equally well, but anyone who knows me will say there ain't a bone of misogyny in this...