'So on a scale, are you like, fifty-fifty?'
She smiled ruefully as she licked pear juice off her thumb. 'I don't know anyone who's fifty-fifty. Nah, my libido is more like a compass needle, swinging all over the place. For the past while it's been jammed at women, but I can't predict what it'll point at next.'
'Phallic or what!'
'Point taken.' They groaned simultaneously.
Emma Donoghue, Stir-Fry (New York: HarperCollins, 1994) 186.
*said the loser, baby.
