Long ago I attended St. John the Baptist Diocesan High School in West Islip, New York. In Mr. Wally Lace’s twelfth grade sociology class there was a girl named Jane who sat fairly close to me. She was short and somewhat plain in appearance and didn’t seem as if she’d turn out to be the least bit of a bad person. Her looks even gave the impression that she was quite a decent character. Having never met her I couldn’t say from experience what she was like. A couple of decades later though, I ran into her at one of our class’s reunions and got a bit of a jolt when she re introduced herself and proceeded to inform me of what a horrible impression she’d always gotten of me in school. She described me in a way that left me thinking she was an ignorant, smug, self satisfied little creep. For some reason entirely unknown to me this rather harmless looking little character took it upon herself to ramble on at me about how much of a mess she thought I was. It’s a good thing her opinion hasn’t ever meant anything to me whatsoever to me anyway. Although she could pass, from a distance, as such a quiet shy studious perfect lady, she turned out to be nothing but trouble.