I think both of our hearts must have gone into overdrive when we heard the metallic scree of a door being rolled open and the men's voices that accompanied it.

Gynaecocracy may not, however, be an idyllic affair.

I sent the memo to the accounting department via interdepartmental mail.

An intellectual type we know stopped in at a bar the other day and asked for a martinus. “Don’t you mean a martini?” asked the bartender. Our egghead looked at him coldly. “If I had wanted two,” he said, “I would have asked for them.”