Issues, Issues, and More Issues

Hillbilly Mom has issues tonight, my friends. Issues which can not
be discussed in this forum. All I can say is: If you have issues with
something I have done, bring it to me, not my child. Just sayin'...

So this will be short, if not so sweet, and then I will burn up the
internet phone liney thingies to my buddy Mabel. Who IS NOT
imaginary. She will give me good advice. She has a cooler head
than I. Perhaps it is the Royal Crown of Hillmomba that makes
me such a hothead. Mabel has always been able to reason things
out with me. Except y'all should make a Note To Self: Do not
walk on Mabel's concrete stepping stones from the parking lot
to the back door when it is pouring down rain, just because you
do not want to get the girly Italian shoes on your mannish feet
muddy. They were not meant for you, so feet off, you heathens!

OK, now for something completely different. No, I'm not going
to quote Monty Python lines. Here's something funny. I know,
that really is something different for a post from Hillbilly Mom.

Today a kid asked to go to the bathroom. My room is right next
to the bathrooms, so I don't have an issue with it unless the same
kid asks too frequently, because then I think they are in there
TEXTING or otherwise doing phonish things. Years ago, it was
a smoking issue, but in this building, there are no outer doors to
the bathrooms. They are concrete maze thingies, like in casinos,
and it is waaayyyy too easy to get caught.

Anyhoo, the kid says, as only a freshman boy can say, "Can I go
to the bathroom? I need to drop the kids off at..." I cut him off,
because I've heard this line from him before. I told him he could
go, but not to ask that way again. (I'm sure you know exactly
which kid I am talking about, Mabel, and I think you should take
it upon yourself to educate him in the proper etiquette for bodily
functions).

So the kid was gone about 10 minutes, and I sent another boy to
tell him to get off the phone and come back to class. Heh, heh.
That way, I figured he would know I was on to him, and come
right back. But nooooo. The second kid came back and said,
"Uhh...I think he's really in there to use the bathroom. You don't
want to go in there. It really stinks!" Ya got that right, kid. I
don't want to go in there!

Five more minutes went by. A kid stood by my desk and hit an
old lunch card that I found in a desk, so that it scooted over and
hit my gradebook. I pushed it back, and he did it again. Yes, this
is the one who greeted me that day with "Hillbilly Mom. My
archnemesis." I lectured him on NOT touching things on my desk.
I was in the midst of lecturing the class on their behavior, telling
them that it was ninth grade now, that I shouldn't have to watch
them every minute and treat them like babies, when we heard it.
A baby's cry!

They all looked at each other. "It's Bathroom Boy!" I told them.
OK, so it's not so funny to you, but it was funny to us. "He can't
stand it anymore," one kid said. Another wail. That got us to
laughing again. Every time someone said something about him,
it was punctuated perfectly by a baby's cry.

Then Bathroom Boy came back. "We heard you crying," they said.
He replied, "Yeah, I sure wish I hadn't eaten so much hot sauce
last night."

It really wasn't him crying. Sometimes, somebody brings a baby to
the kitchen, to the cooks. NOT to cook, silly people. That would
just be OH SO WRONG. Some relative. Or sometimes a teacher's
baby is brought in, or a former student's. I'm sure there was a logical
explanation.

I just don't know what it is.