Skip to main content

Don't Mess with the New Girl

 
It started with a glimpse of a teacher trying to not be seen. I ignored him since I was overwhelmed, anyway. That was a mistake. He pranks offices. His favorite prey are in the counseling section. Small things were amiss. Half hour in, I realized my clock was upside down. Many days I'd find my framed photos upside down or backwards. Any time I found something wrong in my office, half of the school could hear me screech, "Daniel!" He sneaks up behind us, gets close to our ears before he makes a comment, startling us into a scream. Then one day he went too far. 

All my framed photos were backwards and askew. My bulletin board was all wrong. The most egregious act of mischief was what he did to my bucket of candy bars. He'd spilled them across my desk, computer, and some fell on the floor.

It was war.


One day he'd done a particularly good job of vandalizing and I knew I would be stepping it up a notch. Poor Daniel is also O.C.D. about order. He has everything placed just so and lamps at every table. He has hung important posters at a uniform height and so many centimeters apart. Not a pencil is lying about. Thanks to a trip to a second hand thrift shop and helpful staff (some of whom didn't know what they were doing by opening that door or handing over that key) and others as mischievous as myself (copy center Holly), I did a lovely job redecorating his room. I have attached an image of creepy doll faces with hands so you can envision about 7 of those babies hot glue gunned throughout the room. One was on his clock. A couple on his lamps, heads and hands. I attached one to his speaker. One poster was of the movie Gladiator. Russell Crowe's face was replaced by a black baby face. I also hung new posters for him, again using the handy hot glue gun. One was a 1990's scene from a quaint Austrian town like I had hanging in my college dorm. Another was a movie poster of Hairspray including John Travolta as the mother. The best was a nearly full size poster of Jimmer. Feature movie size.

Daniel discovered the carnage and came in to the office looking for the culprit and looking slightly disturbed. He was mumbling something about dead babies all over the place. Today he cornered the three female counselors and accused all of us of our sick sense of humor and messing up his perfect room. We could answer, in all honesty, that we did not do it. 

I think he might have his suspicions. This was on my monitor:
Don't pick on the new girl. You don't know what she's capable of.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Most Dreaded Words

 Everybody knows that Christmas is about keeping the Santa Secret and pleasing your children. Therefore, the most dreaded words are uttered on Christmas Eve. "I changed my mind, I want a [pony, scooter, bike, Red Rider BB gun]" A close second place winner is, "Can I have a New Year's Eve party?" Then, "Me, too?"

Too Sick to be Sick

I am sick.  Really and truly sick.  I even took a sick day and felt no guilt whatsoever that maybe I wasn't sick enough to have a "sick day."  Because I am.  My 5 year old was sick, too so I took him to the doctor.  I refuse to acknowledge that I'm sick because I don't get sick.  So with absolute glee, my little boy climbed up onto the table, stuck out his tongue and conversed with the doctor.  I heard something about cloudy ears and antibiotics and then I just turned it off. It hurts when sound reaches my eardrums. We drove back home, I turned on the television, brought in the dog, and let the babysitting begin.  I crawled back into bed and swam somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness.  The kids came home from school.  I might have acknowledged them.  I made chicken noodle soup from scratch.  I couldn't even think.  My husband caught me in a sway and asked what he could do.  I grunted some terse instructi...

I Hate Pants

I wrote this on my Facebook page: Makayla just wandered upstairs and found me reading on the sofa, pants discarded, as usual. She laughed at me. I laughed at her. Then I realized that Makayla Jensen is not my daughter. Go home, Makayla! I'm not putting my pants back on just because you are here!  There are now two camps. People who agree with me and people who have absolutely no idea why anybody would discard pants upon entering home. Fortunately, I've found that I'm not in a camp all by myself. I found an article of 10 Reasons Why I Hate Pants: Best summed up by this Venn Diagram sent by Scott's cousin: