Actually, I am not actively engaging. Yet. I simply respond. React. Set desks straight so I can flow seamlessly through the day, without having my back aisle progress impeded by backpacks, sprawling six-footers, and needy button-pushers.
Don't think I don't notice. Cus knows I notice. It's a passive-aggressive battle. I am the master of my domain. Not like that. My layout must serve my purposes. Not Cus's purposes. Now, if Cus asks for a larger gap in order to mop, I comply. I have the kids line up the desks and pick up the chairs. And I reposition them myself the next morning before school. What I'm talking about here is clandestine rearrangement. Like I won't know that the back row is displaced by 12 inches.
What's up with this? Taking the extra time to move my
If this battle continues, I must retaliate. It would be terrible if I borrowed a key to Cus's closet, and turned empty buckets upside down, switched the order of mops hanging on the wall, and rearranged the bottles of cleaner. Yes, it would be terrible. But fair.
Fair is fair.