Robert Burns must’ve had a few spring breaks like mine, but I don’t look great in a kilt.
I understand the appeal behind the idiom of ‘beating a dead horse’ – (figurative) beating can be very cathartic.
But continuing to yell “Giddyup!” while doing it?
Dude, you got issues.
Lessons learned and re-learned
On the plus side, I don’t need GPS to get back out quickly.
Kids, DO try this at home:
Favorite recent not-understood-observation-by-my-students on their classroom decorum, usually delivered following a deep sigh on my part: “An entire shelf of thesauruses over there, and yet – there are no words.”
Sometimes, there just aren’t.
‘Thank you for your support and concern’ department:
“Mr. Lucker! What’s up?!”
“My blood pressure.”
This is a not uncommon exchange in our school hallways during passing periods. Usually, it is at the start of fourth period, as my third period class of 35 seniors can be a real group of peasant’s donkeys; my fourth period seniors know this, and most empathize.
Usually the kids just shake their heads, smile, walk into class. But, once or twice a semester, one kid will actually HEAR
ME, and stop, a look of concern crossing his face (it’s always a male student, oddly) and some form of the following ensues:
“Mr. Lucker, your blood pressure really bad? You should see a doctor about that. My granddad had high blood pressure. He had a stroke…and died!”
“Same thing happened to my grandma.” chimes in student number two, equally concerned.
“Thanks, guys. Nice to know that someone cares. My blood pressure is going back down, but now I’m really depressed.”
“Ummmm? You’re welcome?”
Like, in an elevator, and you can’t place the tune…
That joke is obviously Baroquen.
Yeah, I know. There are no words.