Don't Hate Me Because I'm Childish. Hate Me Because YOU Can't Have Lunch Every Day With 85 Freshmen.

Sweet Gummi Mary!

I have lunch duty this week. That means that I sit at the teacher lunch table with everybody else, and when somebody says, "Who has duty, anyway?" I reply, "I DO. What do you want?" Uh huh. I've found that kind of cuts down on other folks complaining that so-and-so needs to pull up his pants, or pull up her shirt, or pull up their chair out of the aisle. Of course, if a fight breaks out, I will be on the front lines. But 20 minutes is not enough time to eat AND patrol the premises. We actually have it pretty good in Newmentia. I'm not complainin'.

Well. Except for this. I was a little late getting out to the table today. About 30 seconds after the bell. And the table had filled up. But my lunch cronies know what's good for them, and they left my chair open. No sooner had I plopped into it than Jewels showed up out of nowhere, and made a beeline for the crevice between me and the colleague I went to high school with. "Mind if I scootch in here?"

Ahem. Of course I minded. So I didn't say, "No." Because that would be a lie, and not a little white one. I did, however, yank my chair over towards my relative, Tomato-Squirter, who is sometimes shunned by the cool crowd. Not that anybody at OUR lunch table is cool. Tomato Squirter shot me a glance, and as Jewels turned to steal a chair from the table of very unpopular boys, she said, "Oh, you can sit on Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's lap." Heh, heh. Very funny. Nobody else caught it.

"Huh. IF she sits on my lap, then I get to stick my hand up her back and control what she says. Wait a minute! I get to keep her from talking!"

Yep. Not gonna be any worm protein discussions on MY watch.