Throughout my didactic history, educators have endeavoured to rid me, cure me, more accurately, of my verbose and superfluous ways in all matters of the pen ... it did not work. (Sesquipedalian Girl is just one of my many, many monikers.)

One PoliSci professor stamped an essay of mine (an exceptional piece, I thought, on the proximate relationship betwixt art and politics) with a great, red "Bullshit" and returned it to me with the directive to write something less "foppish" and more "serious". Clearly the world of politics was not to be my metier.

Another professor accused my father of writing a final essay for me: the topic being sociological in nature, my father being a clinical psychologist, the essay being "of post-doctoral level quality", the conclusion being I must have cheated. I received a C- because he couldn't prove I cheated. What a dick.