I never mention the yams or the mirrors on the walls of his bedroom
or the funny expression on his face when he opened the door.

A Berkeley story. As regards the yams, it's not what you think.
(or anyhow its not what my friend thought when I first mentioned them)

He had invited me over for dinner. He said he would cook.
I was impressed.
The table was elegantly set with place mats and white napkins.
For dinner he had cooked two yams.
One for each of us --
neatly set in the middle of white plates.
We sat across the table from each other eating the yams.

I don't like yams.

"So how come you know about the mirrors in his bedroom?" my friend asked.

"Well, that was my second mistake...." I said.



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