It is cold and lonely in a big ol' school after dark with no shades on the windows and a thermostat that has been set to stop heating at 4:00 and is not to be tampered with. The #1 son had practice from 5:00 to 7:00, and Petri Dish H woke up with a bug after being off last week for vacation, so I stayed after school to bring #1 home to the Mansion. The Pony was pawned off on grandma, who is truly a lifesaver, what with Pony-minding and picking up my Christmas shopping from the Post Office. The Post Office that smells like a dead mouse. I hope my Christmas presents don't smell like dead mouse. That would be OH SO HILLBILLY to give gifts smelling of dead mouse. One thing that doesn't smell like expired rodent is my 2nd Hour class, they who leave my classroom to take a shower and whatnot, always spraying cologne or perfume or slathering on the smelly lotion, even though I have told them I am a fragrance Nazi. Not in so many words, of course. I wouldn't want one of them to go home saying that I'm a Nazi. Like my friend Jim, the 5th Grade teacher who told his students on the first day of school that if they didn't turn in their homework, he would turn into a holy horror, and a little urchin went home that very night and asked his daddy if a man could be a whore, because Mr. Jim said he was going to turn into one. Or like my friend Karen, who told her 8th Grade basketball players to get serious about practice and stop acting like such twits, and a young lass whose daddy was on the school board told her brother at the dinner table one night, "Stop being such a twat." When Mommy and Daddy chastised her for her language, she said, "I don't know why I'm in trouble for saying that! Miss Karen calls us twats every day at practice."
And that's where I'm going to leave this free-association exercise.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment