In the hospital cafeteria:
"She's so not your type," Greg said.
Wilson raised an eyebrow, "And she's yours?"
"You like 'em young and needy, sure, but Gwen has opinions. She's too smart to take your lines."
"So I'm only a bimbo-panty-peeler. And your type is… anything with a vagina and at least a B-cup?"
"Now you're making it sound like I go for post-op trannies. Hmmm. A whole new field of beauties…"