Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Ah, zebras. They always bring back memories.
In college, I took a Zoology class at the Cincinnati Zoo. We had to pick an animal to study for the semester and I chose zebras. (Don't ask me anything about zebras, though. I majored in English Lit., not science.)
Anyway, I spent hours at the zoo, sitting on a rock near the zebras, notebook and camera in hand, waiting for something significant to happen. And by significant, I mean waiting for my Zoology professor to walk by. He worked at the zoo and I had a huge crush on him.
Not surprisingly, one sunny afternoon as I enjoyed an ice cream cone by the zebra exhibit, he did walk by. We said hello and he smiled at me. I smiled back. He smiled some more. We said a few words and then he walked away.
As I followed him with my eyes, I noticed two little boys pointing at me. They were covering their mouths with their hands and looking around for someone else to point me out to. I thought maybe I looked especially good. But, no. I'd dripped ice cream all down the front of my black shirt. I mean, big, hunking gobs of ice cream streaking down my shirt. I was covered. It may have been the reason my Zoology professor stopped to talk to me in the first place. I think he'd been trying to get up the nerve to tell me, but I was too busy flirting to notice.
If zebras had been carnivorous, I would have jumped into their pen. Or let them lick me, if they'd liked dairy. But no, they just stood there, eating leaves. So I scurried out of the zoo before anyone else could see my milky chest. I sat in the back of the room during the next class. And then I returned to my rock.