Ninth grade, science class, 1968, Debbie C in front of me somewhere.
“David, why are you looking at me?”
“Oh, my eyes are just naturally attracted to the prettiest thing in the room.”
(Actually my mind was several million miles away, not on her at all, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings — and she WAS pretty.)
Ninth grade, science class, 1968, Debbie C in front of me somewhere.
“David, why are you looking at me?”
“Oh, my eyes are just naturally attracted to the prettiest thing in the room.”
(Actually my mind was several million miles away, not on her at all, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings — and she WAS pretty.)