Labor Pain

It's been two and a half weeks, and I can't wait for Labor Day. Yes, I know that I just had the summer off, while others in the work force have gone months without a day off. But in teacher years, two and a half weeks is like... seven years. Trust me.

Sure, I'll be reading during the entire holiday, trying to bone up on my Freshman English class, but I can do it outside. Thankfully, I haven't spent enough time in my all-cinderblock classroom to mutate back into my cave dwelling form yet. You know what form I'm talking about--where your skin turns into that translucent shade of pink-where you can see all of the veins--like a baby gerbil. Ah, the outdoors... I miss you.

Unfortunately, when I won't be reading for my freshman, I'll be with them. You see, the Freshman dance is Saturday; and I've been tapped to chaperone. For three hours I'll have to watch a bunch a kids dressed way too old for their age and dancing to songs drenched with filthy innuendo because the old fogies can't understand the words. I don't mind, though, because I could really use the overtime.

Wait a second...