Harold and Maude

I almost didn't enroll in my first college writing class out of intimidation. The other people I knew taking the class had more impressive credentials, and I worried that I had no business mixing with real writers. Fortunately, from the first day, my professor took a liking to me and my writing. She joked with me in class, complimented my work, and even used it as an exemplar for my peers. I came to find out that not only could I hold my own with these students, but that a few of my classmates talked a bigger game than they could write.

Meanwhile, a funny bond emerged between my professor and me. Despite the fact that she was pushing seventy and I was not yet twenty, we had a good rapport, which did not go unnoticed by my classmates. One of them likened my relationship with my professor to the title characters in Harold and Maude. Knowing that it was a classic movie that I should have been familiar with, I just nodded and accepted the comparison.

While at home for spring break, my friend and I perused movie rentals. Spotting Harold and Maude on the shelves, I told my friend about the comment my classmate made, and we agreed to watch it. Imagine my mortification when Harold and Maude quickly end up in bed together. My friend cracked up: "This is what you're like with your professor?!" Before seeing the film, I had envisioned some platonic bond that transcended generations, not a great-grand-MILF romance. Not only had I humiliated myself in front of my friend, I hadn't even attempted to dispute the charge coming from my classmate.

But no, I did not have a sexual relation with my professor. All groping occurred over-the-shirt. I kid... I totally second-based that! There wasn't much I wouldn't do for good critiques on my writing. You know what they say about grades... if you want to get a 95 on your essay, you gotta do a 95-year-old.