My wife teaches an all-day kindergarten class. It seems that yesterday there was a "biting incident."
The victim reported his injury to my wife, who launched an investigation. The investigation involved "separate interviews" with the suspects at the table. They all ratted on the perpetrator.
My wife presented the perpetrator with the evidence, and the kid gave a full confession of her crime.
My wife then claimed she'd never had a one student bite another, and she'd need some time to think about an appropriate response.
That's not true, though. Bitings happen a lot, but "the time to think" line is a tactic deliberately designed to make the kid worry and act right (at least for a while) in hopes of a more lenient sentence.
Other recent classroom crimes involve:
Fencing with pencils
Unapproved attempts at cosmetology on other students
Making fart noises with an armpit
Illegal use of toilet stalls (namely, swinging from them as if they were monkey bars)
Using a belt as a bullwhip
Barking like a dog
My wife gives reports these to me as if they were, well, real crimes. Seeing as the kids are only 5 years old, it's pretty funny stuff, though, but I have to keep a straight face.
Fortunately, I work in a career (PR and writing) where enjoying a good bark or chicken cluck is par for the course.
Q: Where do babies come from?
A: I have a book that explains that. No, Beavis, it's not a "pop-up book."
Q: Why do bad things happen to good people?
A: It's funnier that way.
Q: What’s in your head?
A: It’s mostly shit—usually dog shit. It provides a nice fertilizer for my hair.
As far as what’s on my mind, well, that’s a different matter. My mind is pretty much filled trying to remember all my Personal Identification Numbers. There’s hardly room in there for important things, like limericks. "I saw Polly in a porny with a pony, and..." See? I can't remember the rest.
Q: You like Merchant Ivory films, cats, MGM musicals, cooking and you’re not gay?
A: Gays won’t have me. I’m not neat enough, and I can’t dance.
Q: Are you married?
A: Yes. As long as she doesn’t remember the kidnapping, brainwashing and subsequent lobotomy. It helps that the regular hypnosis sessions convince her I look like Fabio, only hunkier.
Q: What's with the name "That Really Chaps My Ass"?
A: My benefactor, the host of ferocious things, chose that name. Seems that a long time ago, I mentioned to her that something chapped my ass. She suggested I try some "ass chapstick."