Urban legends and arguments

Updated:
Apparently, the Globe editor responsible says the writer claims the urban legend originated with a story of hers. I would have thought she would have laid claim to it publicly sooner.



Now this is embarrassing. Today's Toronto Globe and Mail's reader-submitted Facts & Arguments essay is by a teacher who says she asked students to write a story co-operatively. In one team, the male and female students wrote in radically different styles.

The essay was written by Sharon Melnicer, of Manitoba.

From the story, as reprinted in the Globe:

(First paragraph by Marla) "At first, Betty couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favourite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Bruce, who once said, in happier times, that he also adored chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Bruce. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question. She'd switch to chai."

Trouble is, the story is an urban legend. From the Snopes urban legends site:

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of the question.

The Globe piece goes on and on like this, almost word for word.

Barbara Mikkelson of Snopes concludes:

"The Writing Assignment" first appeared on the Internet in February 1997, when it popped up in the newsgroup rec.humor, having gotten there from a joke list. Though it's passed around as a "true story," we should simply accept it for what it is — a wonderful piece of creative writing.

There's gonna be a whole lot of embarrassment in them pages come tomorrow.

Tip o' the hat to my eagle-eyed writing colleague Mark Kearney for spotting this.