Mom and Dad had awaited this day in anxious anticipation. This would be Juniorette's big test - the decider. The test wouldn't end the anxiety, of course. First the test, then the weeks of anxious waiting , waiting for those wonderful/terrible scores that would determine whether Ette (as they called her for short) was Harvard/Princeton material, doomed to be wait-listed at a second-tier liberal arts school, or strictly community college.
Mom's boss Mary was already bragging about her precious son's scores, and Dad's obnoxious friend Biff was already mentally counting athletic scholarships for son Griff. Griff, it seems, had top scores in aggression, speed, and muscularity SNPs*, as well as pretty good overall size numbers.
Dad recalled with some satisfaction that Biff had changed the subject when he had asked about the verbal and mathematical scores.
The time had come. Ette was finally old enough. Mom carefully inserted the little brush and gently swabbed the inside of Ette's cheek. Dad did the same to the other cheek. The brushes were put in their little bottles and prepared for shipping. Only Ette seemed unable to appreciate the portentiousness of the moment.
It wasn't like they didn't have any clue, of course. Both Mom and Dad knew they had brought good genes to the table. The only question was how the SNPs assorted.
Through all the commotion and tension, Ette remained cool as a cucumber. Steely nerves? Maybe. Or maybe that was normal behavior for a sleepy 8-month old.
*SNP - Single nucleotide polymorphism. For a thousand bucks or two, you now can be tested for a million of them.