Peeps, I have a confession:
I do not follow sports. Not in any way, shape or form.
I'm just not interested. Sorry.While I understand the rush of manliness induced by chasing all variety of balls, it just doesn't thrill me. Good grief, is there any way to say "chasing balls" without it sounding strange? Oi, those middle school boys really are getting to me . . . it's amazing how everything becomes an innuendo when you're a hormonal male . . .
Case and point: I drew an arrow near (not attached to) a stick figure while trying to illustrate a literary concept. The moment that arrow appeared, all the boys were thrown into fits of giggles (yes, GIGGLES).
And don't make me start on the day I said "pianist."
Good lord.
All that to explain what happened this Friday. You see, Fridays consist of forty-minute periods before the kids head off for electives. So, I use Fridays for "free writing" activities; I give the kids a premise and some instructions (include certain vocabulary words, etc), and, after a set time limit, they share what they've created.
This week, I began the exercise with, "All right, so you're on a cruise ship, listening to One Direction or whatever tickles your fancy on your ipod, when a woman screams, 'The black mamba's escaped!' You're tired of tanning or throwing things at tanners, so you go back to your room, and, lo and behold, the elusive and deadly black mamba is on your bed. What do you do?"
I didn't realize the "Black Mamba" is Kobe Bryant's nickname.
Mass chaos ensued.
And here I thought I was up to date on pop culture. Oi vey.
On another note . . .
Some days, I find notes like this:
He surprises me by packing me lunch (and, let me tell you, they are the prettiest, yummiest little lunches), and then puts a note out to remind me, making sure I'm taken care of for the day
It's the little things. :]
Love that man.
