True stories are the best kinds of stories. I went to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet tonight. I had some frog legs for the first time in my life. I thought to myself: “I haven’t seen naked frog legs since biology class in high school.” This thought brought back a memory from my high school days.
So there I was, sitting at my desk, taking the first semester Biology Final Exam. I found myself surrounded by girls, which was unusual only because I had just transferred from an all-boys high school. There was a girl sitting in front of me, one sitting behind me, one to the left of me and one to the right. The girls on either side of me seemed to have scooched their desks a little closer to mine. The girl in front of me kept glancing over her shoulder at my test paper and the girls beside me leaned in from either side for a closer look. Although she tried, the girl behind me couldn’t see my answers from over my shoulder.
Next day the teacher handed out our test scores. The first three girls were obviously quite pleased with their grades. The girl behind me just broke down and cried.
The frog legs I ate tonight were really rather small – could have been toads for all I know: and no, they don’t taste like chicken.
True stories are the best kinds of stories.