Ali's Favorite Story About Dave

Here is Ali's contribution to the incredibly popular recurring series I like to call Your Favorite Story About Dave (Fit to Print on a Relatively Tame Blog): we have to travel back to what I call pre-Sentence of Dave . . . it was summer vacation, and I was pushing my six-month-old son Alex from Highland Park to New Brunswick, where I was meeting my wife and brother for lunch, but on the way I saw my friend's grandmother, and she wanted to get a closer look at the baby, so I took Alex out of the stroller so she could hold him, which she did for a moment, and then I put Alex back into the stroller, and then we blithely continued on our way up Third Avenue and along Route 27 towards the bridge to New Brunswick—it was sunny, so I put up the little awning on the stroller, and Alex was quiet, watching the traffic, and I was in that oblivious zone of serenity that you occasionally enjoy as a new parent when your child is content and needs nothing—when something at my feet startled me—someone had left a doll on the sidewalk, and after I ran over the doll with the stroller and nearly stepped on it-- who would leave a doll on the sidewalk like that?-- I realized: this isn't a doll, it's a child! it's my child! . . . unfortunately, I forgot to strap him back into the stroller after I showed him to my friend's grandmother, and he slid down the front of the stroller, but my vision was blocked by the awning, so not only did he slide out of the stroller onto the pavement, but he also endured a mild crushing, and after I recognized that this was my son and not a doll, I picked him up to assess the damage: he had skinned knees and skinned hands and arms, and a skinned nose, and he was crying, but the injuries were all superficial (and superficially ugly) and I didn't have a cell phone, and I didn't know what to do, so I pushed him to the restaurant, and I got some odd looks on the way there, but I knew that the only person who would know what to do was my wife, and she was at Makeda, so that's where I went, and I entered in a frantic state, but my wife cleaned him up, and he stopped bleeding and crying, and we ended up having a fairly pleasant lunch.

Stacey's Favorite Story About Dave

We recently reviewed Terry's Favorite Story About Dave, and today we will tackle Stacey's Favorite Story About Dave, and this story occurred P.S.D. (Pre-Sentence of Dave) so it may a be a new one for some readers but it is essential knowledge if you want to understand The Persona of Dave, so pay close attention: after swimming a set of grueling sprints in the LA Fitness pool, I stumbled out of the water, grabbed my towel and headed for the shower-- but in my oxygen deprived state, my brain on auto-pilot, I mistook the first shower-head I saw for the privacy of the Men's Locker Room, whipped off my bathing suit and started rinsing off . . . but, to my chagrin, I wasn't even near the Men's Locker Room, I was in the public shower in the window-surrounded pool area . . . stark naked and visible from the fitness floor as well as the outside world, but thank God a dude rounded the corner from the Men's Locker Room, and his odd expression alerted me that I was doing something very wrong; I snapped back into reality, grabbed my towel, wrapped it around my recently exposed genitalia, and ran to the safety Men's Locker Room-- blushing and humiliated-- and ducked into a curtained shower . . . how I mistook the pool shower, with its lack of curtains, for a locker room shower still boggles my mind, as does the fact that if a woman emerged from the hallway, fresh from the sanctity of the Women's Locker Room, she would have strolled into a hairy naked man in the pre-swim rinsing shower and I would have lost my gym membership and perhaps my job as well.

Terry Recalls the Best Story About Dave

Like all people, I am both intrigued and apprehensive about how others perceive me, and so-- during an office conversation on the interplay of genetics and socialization in establishing gender roles-- Terry asked to the new teacher: "You want to know the best story about Dave?" and though she didn't seem to want to know The Best Story About Dave, it was intriguing to me, because I didn't know The Best Story About Dave, and so I asked Terry to enlighten me (and I was hoping it was one of my great teaching moments or when I saved that crippled kid from the rampant bear) but unfortunately it was one of my more embarrassing moments (in a long string of them) but the point of this sentence is not to recount this embarrassing incident-- an incident that Terry had a particularly good view of, so that he saw my face when I screwed it into the grimace of an angry three-year old-- the point of this sentence is that Terry said, "And that was pre-Sentence of Dave, so you should write a sentence about us talking about what happened so you can tell the story," and I agreed that it was a good idea, just the sort of content that I put on the Sentence of Dave, but the incident was not pre-Sentence of Dave . . . it was post-Sentence of Dave and here it is.