Those hippie shirts I wore in the seventies are back in style here, so after class this afternoon I stopped at Kohl’s to check out the bargains. There weren’t any.

I did find a couple of shirts I really liked, though. But it wasn’t until I picked one of them up and looked at it closely that I realized I had veered too far to the right and wandered into the swimsuit section. I’m so old now that the thought of going to Marsh wearing a beach coverup for a shirt doesn’t bother me much. It was the fact that I almost didn’t see the picture of the half-naked couple smoking pot under a beach umbrella on the back of the shirt, that bothered me. Not that I was offended, heck no. It’s just that I might have drawn stares while wandering among the produce. Those people who shop at Marsh the same time I do are OLD. And a lot of them look funny. Some of them wear t-shirts with naked biker chicks on them. Men and women both. I wonder occasionally if I should start shopping at the Marsh on the OTHER side of town.

I found the other shirt I liked when I accidently veered too far to the left and landed in the maternity section. Sigh.

I could have cut out the tag, I guess. And I’m so fat now that the extra-long shirt front wouldn’t have been noticed. And I look so old and frazzled that surely nobody would ask me when I was due.

I had absolutely no money so even the looking was a moot point anyway.

See what happens when you veer too far to either the left or the right? Of anything?

Students in a Harvard English 101 class were asked to write a concise essay containing four elements; religion, royalty, sex and mystery. The only A+ in the class read: “My God,” said the Queen, “I’m pregnant! I wonder who did it?”

That’s old as the hills but then, so am I.

The instructor my students had for the first part of this writing course must have been a real bitch. Two of my students have had a death in the family and they were AFRAID to ask me if I would let them attend the funeral.

As if they needed my permission. I told them to go home that minute and be with their families. School can be made up.

Now I want to find out who their teacher was last semester for this course part I. I have something I want to say to her.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m meaner than a snake when it comes to missing class because of oversleeping, or a girlfriend’s car whut she won’t let me take les’n I fust drops her off at work ‘n she like to sleep late yes, etc. But this? I can not even imagine treating a student like that.

(I checked out the funeral story in the office; it’s real. I’m kind but I ain’t stupid.)

Much.