"Never," he spit out, bathing in the glow of what he believed to be a clever rejoinder. "My body is a temple."
"A temple which is pickled in liquor, anointed in cigarette smoke, and served only the rankest prostitutes from 5th and Main. If that's a temple, I'm a monkey's uncle."
He stared at her blankly.
"Let me put it this way: You do all that to your body but your refuse to let me - a time-tested female with years of experience in the art of grooming - pluck that unsightly caterpillar growing between your eyes?" Upon the word "pluck," he winced, taking a step back and waving his hands madly.
"As I said, a temple. You wouldn't do that to Zeus, would you?"
"If you were Zeus, we wouldn't be having this conversation," she retorted, tweezers held at the ready.