I’ve done my time. In order to avoid taking a foreign language in college, I took three years of French in high school.
Three years in a class taught by a phlegmatic, 70-year-old woman who told us how great the war in Iraq was because her husband was an Iraqi defector. Three years in a class with one girl who would never go out with me (despite my pleading, puppy-dog expression) and another ugly one who couldn’t keep her eyes off me. Of course, this girl came back senior year with a completely changed appearance
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