Playing School

Now, when my little girls invited me to play Schoolhouse, I was under the impression that I would be the one at the chalkboard, ruler in hand.

But, oh, no.

My little ladies had something else up their sleeve.

I was directed to a footstool between Barbie Mariposa and Baby Alive. I was told to sit. Be still. And, heavens be, I had better listen up.

That schoolmaster appeared to be a bit uppity. Crochity, really. She stood in front of class, book in hand and she began her lecture.

On and on she went.

I started to doze off. Who could blame me? She was hard to follow. Kept hopping around topics. Frankly, I questioned her authority on the subjects.

The Dora footstool was jammed into my backside causing my lower extremities to grow number by the minute. I had to think of a plan. And quick.

I searched through my brain archive for escape plans and exit strategies.

I finally settled on the idea to fake illness and ask to be sent to the nurse’s office.

So, in a nutshell, that’s how I ended up lying here in the toddler bed tangled up in bandages with a thermometer up my nose.

Kinda made me consider re-entering the work force.