For several years between college and getting married, I hung around with a lot of fellow SF fans, including a few famous authors. I was a beginning writer then with no publishing credits to my name, although I had exhibited and sold some fannish artwork at SF cons ( conventions.)
At one particular con in Canada, I was eating dinner in a hotel restaurant and ordered roast chicken. I carefully peeled off the crisp, succulent skin and set it aside to eat last. Just then, Isaac Asimov, the famous author of many classic SF books and stories, happened by. He snatched the whole piece of chicken skin off my plate, downed it, smacked his lips, and told me, "That's my favorite part!"
I looked up at him sadly and wailed, "Mine, too!"
Maybe after all these years he's paying me back for that stolen chicken skin, and now I can say that I'm a published SF author, too!
Hope you enjoy this true story.
MRTighe
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