| Humor Fiction posted July 5, 2021 |
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Resourceful pupils take shortcuts
3-Way V-Day Card Distribution
by Elizabeth Emerald
When I was in third grade, fifty-fi some years ago, I had an old hag for a teacher, who was about fifteen years younger than I am.
Miss Healy was a stickler for penmanship. Even apart from the smudges (bane of a leftie), my handwriting was illegible. Thanks to Miss Healy's unremitting corrective efforts, my penmanship grade went from "unsatisfactory" to "needs improvement" (i.e. still sucks, not so much).
Miss Healy had no use for fluff stuff. Her idea of (monthly) arts and crafts was to tell us to get out our crayons, whilst she passed out sheets of construction paper, after which she set an egg-timer for six minutes.
The day before Valentine's Day, Miss Healy, begrudgingly (probably under pressure from the principal), set aside ten minutes for a class project. The group effort entailed encircling our waste-paper bucket in heart-print wrapping paper.
The intent? Festive mailbox.
The result? Fireplug in drag.
On the following morning, we filed into the room, per custom, each with thirty-two pre-addressed Valentine cards, one per classmate.
After taking attendance, Miss Healy instructed us, one by one, to deposit our cards in the firepl mailbox.
Came Lenny's turn, as he made his way to the mailbox, he addressed the class: When you open your cards, you'll see one isn't signed, that's from me.
Came Tommy's turn, he said: I didn't put names on the envelopes; whoever passes them out, give everybody one.
Came Charlie's turn, he opened his paper bag, extracted a package of store-bought valentines, removed the lid, and dumped the lot into the mailbox.
When I was in third grade, fifty-fi some years ago, I had an old hag for a teacher, who was about fifteen years younger than I am.
Miss Healy was a stickler for penmanship. Even apart from the smudges (bane of a leftie), my handwriting was illegible. Thanks to Miss Healy's unremitting corrective efforts, my penmanship grade went from "unsatisfactory" to "needs improvement" (i.e. still sucks, not so much).
Miss Healy had no use for fluff stuff. Her idea of (monthly) arts and crafts was to tell us to get out our crayons, whilst she passed out sheets of construction paper, after which she set an egg-timer for six minutes.
The day before Valentine's Day, Miss Healy, begrudgingly (probably under pressure from the principal), set aside ten minutes for a class project. The group effort entailed encircling our waste-paper bucket in heart-print wrapping paper.
The intent? Festive mailbox.
The result? Fireplug in drag.
On the following morning, we filed into the room, per custom, each with thirty-two pre-addressed Valentine cards, one per classmate.
After taking attendance, Miss Healy instructed us, one by one, to deposit our cards in thefirepl mailbox.
Came Lenny's turn, as he made his way to the mailbox, he addressed the class: When you open your cards, you'll see one isn't signed, that's from me.
Came Tommy's turn, he said: I didn't put names on the envelopes; whoever passes them out, give everybody one.
Came Charlie's turn, he opened his paper bag, extracted a package of store-bought valentines, removed the lid, and dumped the lot into the mailbox.
Miss Healy was a stickler for penmanship. Even apart from the smudges (bane of a leftie), my handwriting was illegible. Thanks to Miss Healy's unremitting corrective efforts, my penmanship grade went from "unsatisfactory" to "needs improvement" (i.e. still sucks, not so much).
Miss Healy had no use for fluff stuff. Her idea of (monthly) arts and crafts was to tell us to get out our crayons, whilst she passed out sheets of construction paper, after which she set an egg-timer for six minutes.
The day before Valentine's Day, Miss Healy, begrudgingly (probably under pressure from the principal), set aside ten minutes for a class project. The group effort entailed encircling our waste-paper bucket in heart-print wrapping paper.
The intent? Festive mailbox.
The result? Fireplug in drag.
On the following morning, we filed into the room, per custom, each with thirty-two pre-addressed Valentine cards, one per classmate.
After taking attendance, Miss Healy instructed us, one by one, to deposit our cards in the
Came Lenny's turn, as he made his way to the mailbox, he addressed the class: When you open your cards, you'll see one isn't signed, that's from me.
Came Tommy's turn, he said: I didn't put names on the envelopes; whoever passes them out, give everybody one.
Came Charlie's turn, he opened his paper bag, extracted a package of store-bought valentines, removed the lid, and dumped the lot into the mailbox.
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