They call me "Miss"

That's it. Just Miss. Yes, I started summer school today, and my students err more on the side of propriety than not. After telling them, "Ms. Ethridge is my mother. I'm Lauren," they still insisted on calling me Miss. I said, "Well what about L.J.?" Apparently, that's too masculine. I'm glad they refused on those grounds, at least.

I have a whopping 6 students: 4 football players, 1 female volleyball player, and 1 female non-athlete. They are a riot, and I think we're all going to get a kick out of my white self. Try to imagine me calling my students by their nicknames: D-Watt, P-Dub, B, and Big Matt (aka Cornbread). My girl students didn't acknowledge any nicknames, although one of them might get stuck with Lean Bean.

Anyway, the class looks promising. Mostly I'm just glad to have structure to my schedule now.

Happy birthday, Ash!

an epiphany

A person does not wear a mullet. A mullet wears the person.

Think on that.

Weird news of the day

This news story caught my attention in the Cohen brothers' dark comedy kind of way. (For those poor souls not familiar with the Cohen brothers, they did Fargo, Oh Brother Where Art Thou, The Ladykillers, etc.)

In other news, Alberto's a'comin' straight for the armpit of Florida. Booyah.

Happy birthday, Maggs!

On the elderly and doctors' offices

The other day I had quite the run around trying to see the eye doc. When I arrived at the place I thought I was supposed to be about half an hour early, I got the royal run around, thanks to an efficient government institution, and actually ended up being 20 minutes late to where I was really supposed to be. Needless to say I was a little out of sorts. And when I'm out of sorts to that degree, there's nothing that'll make me laugh faster that eavesdropping on old people's conversations. Here are a just a few snippets of what I overheard:

One old man to another old man and an old lady: "She got the glaucoma." (dramatic pause)
The others in unison: "Noooo!"

Old man imitating an old woman in a husky voice: "That old lady couldn't hear nothin'. 'What tiiiime is it?' she hollered."

Old man to his audience: "We don't want no schwellin' of the optic nerve. The doctor said that is not a good thing to have."

Old man to same audience: "I went over to her house and fixed the light fixture for her. Then she wanted to know if I could fix a winder back thar." Apparently, this genteleman is a farmer of sorts because he also mentioned to his friends, "I've got cabbages and pertaters."

Perhaps the most amusing, however, was this one gentleman who Mom referred to as "the bullfrog." He had one of the deepest and loudest voices I've heard. What he had to say was virtually unintelligible, but he said it was such gusto that I started laughing. Loudly. Almost uncontrollably. Contagiously. Soon, Mom was laughing with me and trying to look as if I had committed an impoliteness. At least I was in a somewhat better frame of mind when I actually saw my doctor about 30 minutes later.