yes

"So I'll be frigid." The phrase hung in the air like a zepplin just before some idiot ignores the "No Smoking" sign.

"I'm afraid so," Willow confirmed. Tara nodded in rueful agreement.

"Great," Amy groused. "I really AM turning into my mother."

Tara looked confused, while Willow, who'd had first-hand experience with "Catherine the Great," winced. "Sorry," said the redhead.

Amy sighed. "Well, anything's better than being the sex-**** of that piece of shit." Steeling herself like a man facing a firing squad in a 1930s adventure movie, Amy nodded once, fiercely. "Do it."

The other witches did a little dance, made a little potion, and got down to it. As Amy gulped the stuff down the witches began to chant:

"Cupidinem hanc mulierem advenire imperamus!" they cried over and over, waving their hands in arcane patterns. The rooms seemed to crackle with energy, almost like static electricity, but... not.

"So," Willow asked. "You... hungry?"

"I could go for a cheeseburger," Amy replied. But if you mean am I jonesin' for loser cum, then no."

"And the rest?" Tara asked.

Amy diddled herself experimentally, then shook her head. "Nada."

"Well," Tara said.

"It worked," Willow agreed.

"The potion was kind of gritty," Amy said. "What was in it?"

"Graham crackers."