Sunday, I had to take my retired teacher muscles down off the shelf, give them a good dusting, inject them with a shot of adrenaline, slap them until they roused from unconsciousness, and kick them in their withered rumpuses so I could correct The Pony.
I don't take joy in correcting The Pony. He is a sweet soul, who would never hurt anyone ON PURPOSE. Through obliviousness, yes. But not on purpose.
As I walked from the kitchen to the living room, I saw a used bandaid laying face-up on the carpet. Let the record show that I had sliced my finger scarcely an hour previous, but that bandaid was wrapped around my left hand bad-finger. NOT MY BANDAID.
Let the record also show that The Pony had applied a bandaid to the back of his right hand after his triangle-tub soak the night before. He had a rug-burn-looking raw spot from (he said) hitting it on the roof of his car while reaching back for something while out to lunch. The Pony had been going back and forth to his room getting ready for a dip in Poolio. He had walked across that area at least 6 times in the past 30 minutes.
I let lost used bandaids lie. When I got back from town, it was still there. The Pony was in the La-Z-Boy.
"Uh, there's a used bandaid on the floor."
"I know. I saw it."
"Don't you think you should pick it up?"
"Not mine."
"Well, it's not MINE!"
"How do you know?"
"Mine is right here on my finger, where I put it."
"Well, I know it's not MINE, because mine is on the floor of my bedroom."
"Show me."
(((SIGH))) "All right..."
Off The Pony strolled to his bedroom.
"Um. You may be right. I don't see mine."
"That's my point. It couldn't belong to anyone else. Your Dad isn't home from the Storage Unit Store yet, and the bandaid wasn't there earlier this morning."
"Huh. I guess I'll pick it up."
"That's kind of what I expected."
Sweet Gummi Mary! I hope everything isn't a federal case around here. I'll be exhausted from my duties as judge, jury, and executioner, presiding over Pony cases in addition to Farmer H cases! However, I know better than to let a single alleged incident slide.
I didn't survive 28 years of teaching by being a pushover.
6 comments:
Don't you still have your fingerprinting kit? You know, the one you used when you were a teacher and a bunch of students would say, "I didn't make that mess," and then you'd dust off the stuff for fingerprints?
Puh. Lease.
(And the summer has not even officially began yet. ;)
Sioux,
I did not use a fingerprinting kit. I used the eyes in the back of my head. And my ne'er-do-well-dar.
I just saw your Seinfeld Quiz email and sent you my results. I have gotten out of the habit of checking my email, due to six weeks of difficulties with that now-abandoned new used iPhone 8.
Me; "Oi! Who left a used bandaid lying here on the floor??"
Kids; "Not me"
Me: "Who had a bandaid on somepart of their body?"
Kid; "Not me"
Other kid; "Oh it must be mine" comes and gets it.
All done before I leave the house. Not saying your method is wrong, just different.
River,
The Pony and Farmer H are on a continuous float down the river called DENIAL, their butts plopped in inner tubes, sunglasses perched on noses, drifting through life shunning responsibility.
Ha! I see what you did there, drifting :) :) :)
River,
I knew you'd catch that! I didn't even put it in all caps to knock you over the head with it.
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