Guests in groups, pairs, droves, flocks and clumps. Working in spastic intervals between interrupting dollops of pick-up, drop-off, hospitality and first aid. Lots of dish-washing. Beer. Wine. Finger-food….all the live-long-day.
Some local cesspool-on-two legs at the school recently gifted me with the head-cold from Hell. They must have touched me when I wasn’t looking. I swear, the main advantage I can see with the school system is strengthening your own kids immune system. And, of course, eliminating old people who no longer have small children from using the food system. It’s a jungle.
The Inuit were kinder sending their old folks out on ice floes. Now we slyly invite geriatrics into the ‘lab’ to talk to the kids and later put a little check by their name: David Cox, soon-to-be-leaving-us.
You want a plot? I’ll give you plot – death by infectious classroom.
I actually like kids but I am starting to feel that I need perspex when we meet. A large cube for me. A larger cube with disinfectant spray for them. It would be fine. The pope likes it.
Maybe we could just boil them first?
We so rarely get ill nowadays, it is a shock when it happens. Really. “What the hell!? Is my head melting or something? What is all this goo? And why am I shaking and sweating for no reason?”
Trauma, collateral damage from tools, old-fashioned, ordinary damage, fluke-accident damage, and lots and lots of blood-letting and pain to be sure. They are common, even daily occurrences for me. But ‘sick’? Hardly ever.
One needs a kid to inflict that kind of misery. We had eleven the other day. The class is usually 13 but two kids were home ill. Duh!
When meeting a group of kids, I now feel like an Aztec/Mayan meeting the new Spaniards…you just know it isn’t going to end well…. “Why don’t you kids just stand there…you know…downwind…? Hold this perspex in front of you when speaking. “
Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Worry about Sal. She has to live with me while I am drooling and coughing and whinging and demanding more tea. I’d hate to be her. Bad enough being me. I’ll get back on that funicular project when my mucous isn’t obliterating the welding and clogging up the drill press.