He meant well, for a teacher who does nothing well.
I'm reminded of my father.
What? Why?
Because I can't get the phrase, "damn idiot teachers with their damn idiot brains," out of my head.
[enters] Hey, Daria, congratulations. A published story, that's amazing.
[Kevin and Brittany approach them]
Um, it's not exactly published. I sent it in, but I haven't heard back.
Then why are you telling everybody that it's been published?
Oh, you know Daria and her compulsive need to impress.
Oh. But then instead of making up stuff about writing, shouldn't you pick something good?
How's this? During the day, I'm a mild-mannered student. But at night, I fight crime in a stretchy-stretchy costume.
Cool! I didn't know that.
She doesn't really.
But she just said.
Kevie, you're so gullible. [she drags Kevin away]
She wears it on weekends, come on.
You know, my mother gets Musings and their fiction is awful. I bet you'll have no trouble getting in.
Gee, thanks.
That's not what I meant.
[sighs] I know, thanks.
Good luck. [she exits and Ms. Barch enters]
Daria, in the name of Jane Austin, Emily Dickinson, Anne Bronte, Emily Bronte, and Charlotte Bronte, I want to say, "You go, girl!"
That's just how they would have put it.
Who told you?
Er, uh, um, nobody. It certainly didn't come up during anything other than normal in-school chitchat among colleagues. Fully dressed. With no oils involved.
Ever have one of those moments that no shower, no matter the duration nor the temperature, can ever erase?
I'm leaning toward trauma-induced amnesia myself. Punch my head, would ya?
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