You know who I saw once? My home teachers. I remember. They came to see me once.
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8 comments:
You ingrate. Why don't you just be happy that your face isn't plastered on student computers with your smug mug with the title "lab assistant" as the screensaver. If I want a lab assistant, it will be for after-hours anatomy, thankyouverymuch. BUTTT, if you insist on home teachers crashing down on you, when you mark the Sunday School roll, make each box into a depressing story: the first week you can have a rainy cloud, the next a glock, and the third a horizontal stick figure. If you want home teachers, you've got to cause concern. CONCERN. All your fancy Mr. Rogers cardigan-wearing (and houndstooth, if that's the next step) does not bode well for causing concern.
I don't believe I own a single cardigan.
You own a diamond vest, though, and if that isn't the kissing (yet attractive in the way of a slow-mo hair toss) cousin of the cardigan, I don't know what is. (Okay, maybe a pea-coat), but you're more of a hoodie-kind-of-guy so I won't bother.
Sad?
I didn't know you had to be in dire straits to be visited by your home teachers.
It's true, you have to cause concern to get home teacher attention. Maybe start hanging out with the wrong crowd: instead of wearing houndstooth, go the way of proletarian drift and wear Burberry. Become a Chav, the home teachers will arrive to save you from yourself in no time. If you iron your pant legs into a center crease, the home teachers will take it as a metaphor that you are still holding to the iron rod and in no need of their assistance. To reap what you sew, Austin is my homeboy has got to wear what threads have be sewn to be asymmetrical, baggy, and gangstah.
Interesting. I am glad I came back to see what you had to say before turning in.
I think I'll start wearing knee-high boots and bangles to church and give myself pink highlights. Then, maybe my visiting teachers will actually pay me a...visit. Ha!
G'night.
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