He:  (Blurts out in angry sexual frustration: “How the hell am I supposed to know what you like or don’t like? You won’t even give me a fucking chance to buy you a beer. What the hell is your problem anyway, you can’t possibly be getting laid…. Do you ever want to have a man or do you just pretend really, really  hard that you don’t have a fucking butch monkey at home.)
 
She:,( After 6 months of continued begging and sexual harassment she slowly backs up and gives him this answer.) She is pmsing and exhausted, as she speaks she begins to cry

“Even in the damn darkest of nights,… there is a soft whispering light that revolves the face and aura like the softest possible human touch. That light is where I’m at. Don’t look for me under constrained typical manifested thoughts that swirl through your heart and mind like a memory or illusion. I am the coldest breath of frozen popscicles, grape & cherry & lemon lime. I am the fast splash of water on your face and the hand me down afghan on your feet. Believing I am the predictable eastern glimmer that will fit into your assumptions of womanhooded mannerisms and feigned politely accessorized female statues is an unfortunate assumption that you would have to battle without me. I am yesterday and tomorrow within the same fucking day, and I really deserve to be respected on both. 
If that kind of “Namaste” respect for my very essence does not exist in at least some little corner of your being, speak now or forever hold your peace. Hitting on me every damn day and staring at my tits is as about appealing to me as fucking a damn jackhammer. However, if the jackhammer had a sense of humor he might still have a better chance.”