I Guess I Showed Her She Was Sleepin' In The Bed She Made For Her(self)

For those of you who won't get that song reference in the title (I'm looking at YOU, Madam!), there's an oldie by Highway 101 called The Bed You Made For Me. It has a lyric that goes, "Did you tell her she was sleeping / In the bed you made for me?

In this case today, sleepin' means eatin', and bed means faculty lunch table.

Ah...revenge, so sweet. Whether premeditated or a happy accident. Here's how it all went down.

Tuesday, I was catching up some last-minute record-keeping before I warmed my lunch. The Pony trotted in to pick up his next-to-last EVER school broughten lunch. I chatted with him for a moment. Then proceeded to nuke my leftover BBQ chicken breast from Sunday. Of course the lunch tardy bell rang. I grabbed a bottle of water and some paper towels (Mrs. HM is both hydrated AND tidy at the lunch table) and headed out to see the day's topic of discussion at the Semi Weekly Meeting of the Newmentia Lunch Time Think Tank.

Well. Apparently, the meeting had been tabled, and Mrs. HM was not informed! There were not enough Think Tankers present to constitute a quorum. In fact, there were not enough Think Tankers there to initiate a tete a tete. Precisely, there were NO Think Tankers there. Nobody at all, in fact. That table was barer than Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard. What a fine kettle of fish THAT was, on the sixth-to-last school lunch period EVER for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! Whoops! That's not a good term to use, lest the Yes-A-Cooks overhear and put a kettle of fish on the menu. Oh, well. We're having leftovers from here on out, and next year's fish won't affect Mrs. HM at all.

No way was I going to sit down at that empty table by myself. Uh uh. No sirree, Bob! That means that if a fight breaks out, I'm the sole breaker-upper. And let me tell you, as a breaker-upper from way back...one is not enough! Besides, it wasn't MY week to have duty. So I figured I would let those chips fall where they may. A short-timer such as myself does not tempt fate, does not stick her neck out when the end is in sight. Just like any teacher who wins the PowerBall needs to call in sick the rest of the year, because somebody out there is going to see dollar signs and plan a lawsuit.

I did not even enter the cafeteria proper. The first giant trash bin by the tray return window was as far as I got. I turned on my heel and beat feet to the teacher workroom. Perhaps my cronies were hiding out in there. Nope. Still, I could take a potty break and check my mailbox and then look back at the table to see if anyone had arrived. But then, right on my heels as I was setting down my chicken sandwich on the copy table, a PUPIL entered the teacher workroom. Oh, NOT-HEAVEN no! Enough of this nonsense! No way am I peeing with a pupil there outside the door.

I snatched up my chicken sandwich and stepped back into the hall to head for my room. And WAY down at the other end, I saw LIPPY LIBBY walking in my direction, carrying a lunch bag! Oh, sweet justice! I continued to my door, looking neither left nor right. No greeting even forming in my brain. I went in, let the door close behind me, didn't flip on my light that I had turned off on the way up the hall, and sat at my desk with my internet news for company.

So, Libby...
I imagine you most likely tucked yourself in once again, in that bed you made for you.