What's A Little Typhoid Between Acquaintances?

Never look a gift horse in the mouth unless you are wearing a surgical mask, holding down Secretariat's tongue with a flat wooden stick, and asking if he's off his feed.

A snake came to my water trough on a hot, hot day, and I in pajamas for the heat, to drink there. OOPS! Wait a minute. That was D. H. Lawrence sportin' the PJs. Not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. What I meant to say was...

A work colleague came to my doorway on this cool, cool day, and I standing defenseless in the hall, to give me something. Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not take to cuteness of any sort. Especially the kind where someone tells her to hold out her hand and close her eyes. That's a good way to end up on the internet in a photo with bunny ears (by fingers or by real severed rabbit ears) behind your head, and somebody dangling something inappropriate over your palm.

Thank the Gummi Mary, Gifter did not ask me to close my eyes. I did not really want to hold out my hand. But I did. Because Gifter looked sad, kind of teary-eyed, and students were flocking to and fro, so I had witnesses. Gifter reached to the depths of her striped, beach-baggy carryall, pulled out her hand palm down, and slapped a tiny packet of M&Ms on my lifeline. She grinned. Pleased as punch. I thanked her. Then she turned away and started hacking up a lung. SWEET GUMMI MARY! I had been infected!

I barely had time to register my dismay, what with student witnesses shouting, "Hey! Drug deal! I saw that! She gave you drugs! I'm a witness! Better not swallow those in class. They're not allowed in your room. I know you have them."

Ahh...yes. The Gifter that keeps on giving. I stuffed that brown packet into my pants pocket. Upon entering the classroom, I headed straight for my corner desk control center, fished it out with two fingers, and dropped it into my red teacher bag that I got free at Office Max several years ago. Then I pumped my personal keg of Germ-X like there was no tomorrow.

I know you're not thinking, "But Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! Why didn't you just throw away that fun-size packet of Ms?" I know you're not thinking that, because you're a woman. You're a teacher. And you know that M&Ms are chocolate. That contaminated candy can marinate in my red bag 'til the cows come home. Until the germs are geriatric and harmless. Then I will have a surprise snack when I'm digging for my flash drive, or my glasses, or my little spiral notebook, or some triple antibiotic ointment.

I figure a week will do.