The day before my high school graduation, the principal called an assembly. He wanted to say farewell informally, he explained, as he reviewed our years together.
There was hardly a dry eye among us as he concluded, "We will remember you, and hope you will remember us. More importantly, we want you to remember each other. I want all of you to meet in this very auditorium 25 years from today."
There was a moment of silence. Then a thin voice piped up, "What time?"
My boyfriend and I were taking his 19-year-old niece to a weekend festival. When we arrived at her house to pick her up, she appeared in tasteful but very short shorts, and a tank top with spaghetti straps. A debate began immediately about appropriate dress. I took the girl’s side, recalling that when we began dating, I dressed the same way.
“Yes,” said my boyfriend sternly, “and I said something about it, didn’t I?”
Everyone looked at me. “Yeah,” I replied. “You said, ‘What’s your phone number?'”
“That’s a nice plant,” said a woman at the florist’s shop, pointing to the flower I was buying.
“Yeah, my wife and I had an argument,” I admitted. “I was going to buy her a dozen roses, but I don’t think she’s THAT mad at me.”
On New Year's Eve, Patty stood up in the local bar and said that it was time to get ready. At the stroke of midnight, she wanted everyone to be standing next to the one person who made their life worth living.
As the clock struck 12, chaos erupted as the bartender was almost crushed to death.