You need to appreciate that after 6 months on the road and currently at the end of 14 hours of driving from Pismo Beach to The Californian Red Woods, in two days, we were scraping the bottom of the barrel for stories…
Shelley: And that’s what happened in Grade 2. Want to hear what happened in Grade 3?
John: Do I have a choice?
Shelley: Ha! Ha! So, picture me, “the” most adored, loved, model student ever, think teacher’s pet, listening attentively to my teacher. But, despite the fact that I was enjoying the story, and wanted to please her, I became restless and started to fidget. At one point, I slumped low in my desk and spotted my comb. Immediately, I began grooming. Once finished, I wrapped my long bangs around the comb, and rolled bangs and combs as tightly as I could, up to my hair line. Like this…
It was a terrible decision, because, when I tried to unwind it, nothing happened. Hair and comb were hopelessly tangled. Just my luck, that’s when my teacher spotted me. I know what was going through her mind as she watched me struggle.
Teacher: Dear God. What “is” she doing?
Shelley: Panicked, I covered the rat’s nest with one hand, tugged with the other, and smiled.
Teacher: Look at that smile. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She doesn’t fool me one little bit. She is definitely up to something. But what?
Shelley: She was three rows away. More tugging. More pulling. But, nothing worked. Nothing!
Teacher: Why in the world is she pulling on her bangs?
Shelley: With two rows to go, I was frantic. But, the damn thing wouldn’t budge.
Teacher: Whatever she’s trying to do, it’s definitely not working.
Shelley: She reached me.
Teacher: Oh. My. God. How did she do that? Never mind, I am not going to ask. Unbelievable.
Shelley: By this time, my eyes were darting around, I could barely breathe and sweat was pouring off me.
Teacher: Oh boy. She’s worked herself into a real state. Not as bad as yesterday, though, when I woke her during the math lesson.
Shelley: I was cornered.
Teacher: Can’t wait to see how she plays this one out.
Shelley: I asked for permission to go to the bathroom. No way was she going to say “no.” Too much of a risk.
Teacher: Is she kidding me? If I let her go, guaranteed she won’t be back before the end of recess.
Teacher: Bet she goes for the “panic toilet” move. Wait for it. Wait for it. And…and….there it is.
Shelley: I scrunched up my face, jiggled, and tapped my feet.
Teacher: Her acting skills have definitely improved. The new jiggling move, very effective. And now, the finale….
Shelley: “Please Miss. May I go? Please. I’m not sure if I can wait until recess. Please. Oh. Oh. Please.”
Teacher: Can’t help but think of the orphanage scene from, “Oliver.”
Shelley: Of course I fooled her. Chunks of hair came out. But, I didn’t care. The comb was free and I “knew” I was still her most favourite. Ever. And, as her favourite, I was confident she wouldn’t mind if I went to recess early. You know, she resigned half way through the year. Never could figure out why.
|Resonable Facsimile of Shelley
Shelley and John