My mother’s first husband died when she was 29 years old. She had just gone back to college to get her degree. Years earlier, she had to leave college in her second year, due to illness. She ended up getting her Master’s Degree in psychology and becoming a practicing psychologist. She started out as a child psychologist but later switched to adults. She found that treating children was too physically demanding for her after she had me.
Anyway, while she was in graduate school, she was dating my father. He was a prominent and published psychiatrist and anthropologist. In one of her psych classes, she was required to read a book that my father had written. She then had to write a paper on the book.
Coincidentally, Mom had helped my dad edit this book before it was published. Mom was swamped with other schoolwork, so she asked my father to write the paper for her. He knew that she knew the book backwards and forwards, so he agreed to help her.
I’m sure you can guess what happened. Mom got a B, her worst grade ever. On top of that, the professor wrote comments in the margins. She said that Mom misunderstood what the author meant on one point, and missed the point of what he was trying to say on another.
Of course Mom couldn’t say anything to the professor! She had to swallow her grade and move on. My dad found the whole situation disturbing, but funny.
Mom never had Dad write anything for her again.