When I was fifteen or so, a long while back, my family and I were having dinner at a local restaurant when a person (apparently authorized by the restaurant) approached us and said she was a handwriting analyst. She inquired if we'd like to have our writing analyzed and we said yes. So we all wrote something out for her and gave her the papers. She went off for a while and studied the samples and then came back, giving each of us an interpretation. When she turned to me she looked very confused and distressed and kept looking at the paper and looking at me, over and over. Finally, she said that from my handwriting she would have to think that I'd been raised in a German concentration camp! Little did she know about my family!