Perfect Crimes

"What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No. I go for the chandelier; it's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning the cops and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I love the cold. Thirty years later I get a postcard. I have a son. And he's the Chief of Police. This is where the story gets interesting: I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. She's been waiting for me all these years. She's never taken another lover. I don't care. I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier." Dwight K. Schrute

This week I have exactly 4 tests. I ended up dropping one of my classes so instead of taking 19 credits, I'm now only taking 16. But still... it's like finals week. Almost. I really wouldn't mind if I didn't have to take them all in the testing center. The people that work there are vicious. Your jeans can't have any fraying at the bottom or any tears in the knees. You can't be wearing sandals or anything that remotely looks like them. If your jeans happen to be ankle jeans (a.k.a. really bad high waters, but on purpose because they're skinny jeans) they will accuse you of wearing capris and send you home. I guess ankles and armpits are just too darn sexy.