Darling Denis,
I am attempting to enjoy my free period a l'ecole after a rather brutal turn at lunch duty. A few times a week, I "watch" the "children" while they "eat lunch" in the olive garden. While the vacant olive garden itself is quite pleasant, the complete and utter pandemonium that ensues at the stroke of noon totally destroys any innate tranquility of this hellish garden. At one point, a 3rd grade french girl was grinding my left leg as she belted out the hilariously incorrect lyrics to Rihanna's Umbrella and my OLD-fav 2nd grade student, Youssef (who had quite unfortunately for me, found a bottle of ketchup to play with) made a game of sneaking away to pour the red condiment all over his arms, legs, or face and then attacking me full on as he shrieked at full volume, "Meeeeeeess Keeellllly, I've been shot and I'm bleeeeeeding to death." The only death that I'm aware of is the demise of the adorable white and tan Thread dress I borrowed from my sister to wear to work today.
A bloody mess,
La Prof.
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