“Miss Emily, the buttons on your shirt look like nipples!” — teaching assistant, age 60.
Yes. You read that correctly. A 60 year old said this. Not a kid. But she said it IN FRONT OF the kids.
So that was great.
But the most upsetting part is that now these poor kids think THAT’s where nipples are supposed to be.
I’ve been told I’m dramatic when I have PMS. Not sure I believed that until my sister just sent me this photo, taken at the end of our family beach vacation this summer. She started a grocery list and told us to add anything we needed. My requests are at the bottom in black ink.
(Related to The NYC Effect)
Last night I had a dream that my whole apartment caught fire. I woke up this morning to my smoke detector beeping low battery.
The former, Maryland-born me: “Wow, I’m so lucky! That beeping went off during my sleep and caused a dream about fire as a warning that I could be in danger, so I should change the battery ASAP. I’ll do that first thing today. Thanks for looking out for me, Universe!”
Me after 2 years in NYC: “Well that was annoying. Guess I should change the battery, though.”
Me after 5 years in NYC: “I am going to smash that thing in with a baseball bat so that it never fucks with my sleep again.”
Me this morning: <actual maniacal smashing of smoke detector, followed by spitting on it>
Except instead of a home-cooked meal on the table, it’s take-out chinese on the table. And instead of two glasses on the table, it’s one glass on the table. But it’s not really a glass on the table, it’s a solo cup filled with wine on the table. And it’s not a table. It’s a foot stool.
This is New York, guys.
That moment when you’re texting with the guy you went out with last week, and he keeps referencing things you talked about, but you don’t remember any of them because you were WAY too drunk.
and then….
Us (to students): “So remember before all the test prep began, when we were learning about our nation’s history? Who remembers the names of the 13 colonies?”
Kid (eager and with confidence): “CANADA!”
The kid totally knows how to fill out a bubble sheet, though.
He’ll be fine.
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
I feel like there was a nicer way to say this. I’m a teacher who works closely with your young child, not a cleaning service. Or your cat walker.
That glorious first day after state testing is done, when you show up to work and find out you’re being pulled from your classroom to give 4 make-up state tests.
Sometimes you have to find the little things in life to be grateful for.
Like the fact that I made it to age 33 having never encountered the term “little balloon knot.”
Or the fact that 15 minutes was spent sitting with my professional, educated colleagues debating the meaning of this term.
(For those of you wondering*, it’s an asshole)
*Mom and Dad
He’s not the first to suggest my baby nephew has a WASPy name, but he gets points for best delivery.
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