Abramson, Snickers and popcorn

The summer after eighth grade, I went to gymnastics camp for a couple of weeks. I was hoping to turn into a power gymnast. Mostly I just got much worse.

Anyway, they had this canteen at night where you could order snacks and have them charged to your parents' account. You told the person behind the counter your last name and gave him your order, and all of a sudden there would be glorious junk food in your calloused hands.

Every night, I wanted the same thing: a Snickers bar and a bag of popcorn. But because I was a very shy girl who hesitated with everything--tumbling passes and conversations with acquaintances and raising my hand in the classroom--I got nervous before ordering my nightly fix.

So as I waited in line (and the line was invariably, thankfully long), I rehearsed in my head-- Abramson, Snickers and popcorn...Abramson, Snickers and popcorn--so that I wouldn't fumble when my turn came up.

I fumbled anyway. Abramson, Snickers and popcorn: that's a mouthful for even the most silver-tongued orator. I didn't stand a chance.