Matter of Age


I was sitting in the waiting room for my first appointment with a new dentist. I noticed his dental diploma, which bore his full name. Suddenly, I remembered a tall, handsome, dark haired boy with the same name had been in my secondary school class some 40-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, grey haired man with the deeply lined face was far too old to have been my classmate.
After he examined my teeth, I asked him if he had attended Morgan Park Secondary School.
“Yes, yes I did. I’m a Morganner!” he beamed with pride.
“When did you leave to graduate?” I asked
He answered, “In 1975. Why do you ask?”
“You were in my class!” I exclaimed.
He looked at me closely as if examining me and then the ugly, old, bald, wrinkled, fat arsed, grey haired, decrepit bastard asked “Oh yeah? What subject did you teach?”

543990cookie-checkMatter of Age


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