saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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Kids. Let's just shrinkwrap them to keep them clean until they're 25.
Yesterday, my time at work ended with a phone call from my daughter's school. It was her teacher speaking. During recess, my daughter had been "having a really great time playing in a mud puddle" and was "simply covered in mud, head to toe."
I was horrified, picturing her cocooned in filth, weeping inconsolably as it hardened around her, making her into a tiny, muck-covered statue. "I'll come get her," I told the teacher.
"Oh, and she's getting a white slip for this," Ms. Teacher informed me crisply. "She is aware that this is unacceptable behavior."
"…Right. A white slip." I mulled that last tidbit over in my head slowly, and repeated, "I'll be right there to get her."
As my daughter walked over to my car, I examined the reality of the horrendous damage that had been described to me on the phone. Taylor had some mud on her shoes. Some smears of mud on her coat. And one large strip of mud on her cheek. When she ducked to get into the car, I could also see a small splash of mud in her hair.
O…K…
"Simply covered in mud." For fuck's sake, people. She gets dirtier than that when she leans against my car.
This situation has resulted in the following:
a) My daughter does indeed know better than to play in mud puddles at school. Not exactly the time or place. Therefore, she doesn't get to watch "Dragonball" for three nights. Considering her typical reactions to punishments, she is "going to DIE from this!" Okay. Fine. I'll scrape up some money for a life support system, and upgrade it in small sections preparing for her teen years when I'm sure she'll have a full blown heart attack when I tell her she can't use the car.
b) I have concluded that my daughter's teacher is a prissy, anal retentive cunt, prone to overreactions of the highest degree. And horrible dressing habits. Fuck off, lady.
I just…
I…
No. Nope. I have nothing more to say than that. Seriously. FUCK OFF, LADY.
(Speaking of overreactions…)
I signed the white slip with great relish, thinking twice about adding "COCKSUCKERS" at the bottom. I'm thinking I'll save my ever-so-constructive feedback for the next parent-teacher conference. If I'm lucky, I'll come out of it with a black eye, but also with the knowledge that I don't back down when I'm in the middle of a self-righteous rage.
And that's all that matters.
Right?
2:54 p.m. - 2003-01-08
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