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?”