someone took an extra wide marks-a-lot and wrote "dawn grainger has hairy armpits" on one of the bleachers in the gym. it had apparently been there for several years before i arrived as ms. grainger had long since left the hallowed halls of our fine institution.
several years later, during my high school years, i was at a party. my sister was back from college and she was there, too. my sister was standing there talking to a dark-haired lass i had never seen before. i went up to say hello. it went a little something like this:
sister: hey. *turns to brunette*. this is my brother. *turns to me* this is dawn.
brunette: hey. what year are you?
brunette: oh, you probably know my brother mark.
me: oh, sure, mark grainger.
let me stop for a moment to talk about what a wonderful thing the human brain is. it's capable of storing and processing massive amounts of information.
me: so you're dawn....dawn grainger...
let me stop for a moment to talk about what a terrible thing the human brain is. it's capable of storing and processing massive amounts of information.
me: dawn grainger has hairy armpits?
brunette: #### you. *turns and leaves*
poor dawn. that little piece of graffiti had probably tormented her most of her adolescent life. she had finally graduated and left town for college. she was once again just "dawn grainger" and no longer "dawn grainger has hairy armpits". here i was reminding her that her and her hairy armpits would forever be burned into the brain of every person that passed through that junior high.
poor, poor, dawn.
(while this story is true, the names have been changed to protect the hairy)