Second grade, first class a-hole

It's funny how sometimes writing one thing makes you think of another. Actually, that really isn't funny or peculiar at all. I don't know why people always refer to such things as funny. Because they aren't.

The last line of the last post that you probably haven't read yet made me think of this. When I was in second grade, my teacher's name was Ms. Westenscow. On an annoying, but unrelated side note, every word that is marked as misspelled with the red squiggly lines, I must subsequently add to the dictionary, as allowing one or two of them to build up causes my spell checker to simply give up, and stop any further corrections. Annoying. Damn you Bill Gates/Universe.

Funny, I thought of that because I had to add Ms. Westenscow's name to the dictionary. So now, every time I write about her, which I am sure will be frequent, my computer will know that she is just one of the gang. Peculiar.

So, second grade. We were quietly marching with arms folded in a line on the way to the lunch room. Because that's how they teach you to be real people in Elementary school. You fold your arms and walk in lines everywhere you go. Like real people.

As we approached the lunch room, the P.E. coach/teacher/whatever you call her was passing us in the hall. Her name was Ms. Deehart. A name rife with possibility, to the teeming, clever mind of a 2nd grader. She gave her customary smiles and, "Hello students!" as she passed by. Apparently without thinking, as I was a rather cowardly child in general, I blurted out, "Hi Ms. Deefart."

Instantly, Ms. Westenscow whipped around, eyes full of wrath. Now, she was a scary woman in any normal setting. I mean, her name almost had the world "skull" in it. Naturally, she would be rather witch-ish. Logically. But to see her with her wrath kindled was very unsettling. She immediately demanded to know who had spoken the blasphemy. Obviously, nobody said anything. Like hell I was going to fess up. When nobody said anything, and surprisingly nobody ratted anyone out, she said "Shame on you. Shame-on-you." Accompanied by a rather shame projecting head shake. Then she turned around, leading the class the rest of the way into the lunch room. As though I had any shame. As though the phrase "Shame on you," had any negative social impact upon my young, careless mind. All I cared about was that I didn't get busted, and was about to eat a bean burrito and chocolate milk. She could shame me to my grave for all I cared.

Now, a decade and a half later, I feel that shame. Ms. Deefart. What a wretched little monster I was.

Peculiar.