My name is Mary, and I was sitting in the waiting room for my first appointment with a new dentist. I noticed his diploma on the wall, which bore his full name. Suddenly, I remembered a tall, handsome, dark-haired boy with the same name had been in my high school class some 30-odd years ago. Could he be the same guy that I had a secret crush on way back then?
Upon seeing him, however, I quickly discarded any such thought. This balding, gray-haired man with the deeply lined face was way too old to have been my classmate. After he examined my teeth, I asked him if he had attended Morgan Park High School.
“Yes. Yes, I did. I’m a mustang,” he gleamed with pride.
“When did you graduate?” I asked.
“In 1975. Why do you ask?”
“You were in my class!” I exclaimed.
He looked at me closely. Then, that ugly, old, balding, wrinkled faced, fat-assed, gray-haired, decrepit son-of-a-bitch asked:
“What did you teach?”
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