"Say," began Lucille one day over lunch, "didn't you go out with that guy who played the French horn?" "Yeah," said Diane, 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." "Oh, really?" "Every time he kissed me, he wanted to shove his fist up my ass."