Except, her name was “Miss Hooker” (ya can’t make this cr@p up, folks…), she was 5’2″ tall with a booming bustline, her eyes were cobalt “almost to black,” and secretly… in her other job, she was a ninja assassin.

I stared at her constantly, with glassy eyes… deeply adrift in another realm of consciousness… You see, I worshiped her for being a ninja. Truth? I actually adored her for singlehandedly bailing out the Steel industry, by providing the need for reinforced “foundation garments.”

I got an “A” in her class, too. but she made me detail her car after class. Twice. Weekly.

I constantly acted like “an @ss in class” because my father told me, in a letter he wrote to me from Vietnam, that women liked a guy with a sense of humor.

One day she came into class carrying that same Styrofoam cup! “What’s in here?” she asked. Then she pointed to me. Like an idiot, I gazed up through her cleavage,and replied; “water.”

She dumped the contents on my head. It was scalding hot coffee. I screamed like a little girl.

She then told the class that she had just demonstrated… using audible signals as prrof positive… Bernoulli’s principle.

(I still have the scar, and now… a receding hairline. Okay, okay… truth. My hairline is racing to the back of my head, as you read this.)

It’s entirely possible that I became an “idiot savant blog author” to avoid having to ever answer that question again.

Additionally, I am neither Clark, nor Scott, or even Roger. They have better sense than to allow me to play in their yard.

Small world!