When I was a freshman and on a swim team for the first time, we were coached by an attractive unmarried guy who used to regale us with tales of him beating Olympic swimmers in matches from his college days. I had a bit of a crush on him, I admit it! So when it came time to order our suits, and he asked us to write down our sizes, I had no idea what to do. I could see what the choices were: 30, 32, 34, 36. But for some reason, I could not figure out what my size would be and I was too embarrassed to ask any of the other, more experienced girls for help. So I glanced over at one of the senior girls to see what she wrote down, which was 38, and I just wrote down the same thing. I figured it couldn't be too far off, right?

The next day, Mark, the coach of the crush, tapped me on the shoulder after practice and handed me my form back. He said he'd looked at the size I wrote down and was pretty sure I wasn't that big, so he'd written in what he thought I would wear. He wanted to know if I thought that was right. What did I know? Blushing furiously, I handed it back to him. When the suits came, though, he had gotten me the right size. I was, indeed, only a 32.