As per usual, Mrs. HM
left just enough time to get there, do her business, and walk back to her
doorway to greet her students entering at first bell. No need to make that
pilgrimage earlier and break up her solitude. No need to make it later and have
her room unattended with students present. Proper timing is of the essences.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom
turned on the hot water faucet to wash her hands. Always hygienic is our HM.
She soaped and rinsed. Was getting ready to snatch a paper towel from the
dispenser. Teachers are allowed them, you know. Not so the students. They might
jam them in the sink drains and cause a flood. So they only get blowers that
sound like jet engines.
As Mrs. Hillbilly Mom
peered into the mirror over the sink, she saw something amiss with her green
plaid shirt. A spot. Was it a stain already, so early in the day? Preposterous!
Just a tiny dark spot. A teardrop shape. Smaller than a pencil eraser. She
leaned in. Looked closer. Looked down at her very own chest. What the—
It was a burr. The
kind you pick up running through the countryside with your ears flapping. The
kind carried on a dog’s fur. A dog such as Mrs. HM’s sweet, sweet Juno. A dog
who greets her sweet, sweet Mrs. HM on the side porch by the garage before she
drives off in T-Hoe every morning.
Mrs. HM reached down
to remove the offending burr. It was stuck like Velcro to her shirt. Velcro was
patterned after burrs, you know. That is, perhaps, ironic. After much scraping
with her fingernails, Mrs. HM pried the burr loose. And left a wet spot right
over her left boobicle. Right before she was due to walk down the hall and
stand at her door and greet students.
Let the record show
that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is NOT lactating. And that her pupils knew better than
to inquire.
4 comments:
Smart kids! I always have some evidence on my clothes. Everyone would guess that I have a pet or two ....or five.
I've heard of "XYZ" but never "XYB."
You know, examine your boobage...
Kathy,
Consider it an accessory.
****
Sioux,
I thought I was going to have to decipher that. There's a reason I'm not a spy.
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