The Plague has hit our house. At least, I’m assuming it’s THE PLAGUE, because my daughter assures me, from her death bed no less, that she is dying. DYING. Just one more time throwing up and it will all be over for her. Twelve hours of vomiting is more than a 13-year-old body can handle.
I, of course, know different. I HAD babies, and lived to tell about it, and I have assured her, repeatedly, that she is not dying, however, when she gives this SHIT to me, she is gonna wish she was dead.
Kids. Today, one of my students spent 10 minutes trying to convince me and all his other classmates that he had suffered from–and survived, no less–smallpox FIVE times. Five times. Imagine that. Never mind that smallpox was eradicated in the 1940s.
Next up? Mother fed us Anthrax for dinner.