The Case of the Purloined Pumpkins

I admit it. It's a little early in the school year to be going crazy but somewhere along the line, I hit the wall. Planning Halloween costumes ("How many hula hoops do you want me to buy?" Brad asked incredulously. Really? HOW long has this man been married to me?), producing a music video, performing my own stunts, wrestling seventeen longhouses into my classroom, and trying to get twenty nine-year-olds to pronounce Haudenosaunee correctly (As if I knew how to pronounce Haudenosaunee). And somewhere in there...teach.

So...somewhere along the millionth time that I was forced to stomp by Mr. King's classroom, where his children always appeared to be quietly engaged in learning, I stopped longing to break into his UNOPENED container of candy Halloween pumpkins perched invitingly outside his door and simply acted upon it. It's not like he wasn't warned. This storm had been building for awhile. Just the day before, I had launched a verbal tantrum of epic proportions upon his 3rd graders waiting (quietly and in a perfect line) to enter their classroom. "WHY would your teacher leave an UNOPENED container of candy on top of the cubbies for OVER A WEEK!?!" I yelled. "It's unconscionable!" I stormed off. Mr. King later when on to win the Nobel Peace Prize of Teaching on his stellar vocabulary lesson based on the term unconscionable.

So..yeah. I'm not going to lie. I stole it. The statute of limitations for unopened candy pumpkins perched on a hallway cubby had LONG expired. I snuck the container into the office and proceeded to cut my finger on the practically impenetrable packaging. However, neither blood nor karma could deter me. "Joanne, I need some scissors," I cried. The silent secretary handed me shears and a band-aid. "A-ha!" I popped the pilfered pumpkin in my mouth, victorious! "What on earth are you doing?" Joanne finally asked when I'd stopped hemorrhaging. A staunch advocate of taking personal accountability for one's actions, I bravely admitted my crime (There are cameras in the hall, after all).
Withholding judgement, Joanne instead resorted to blackmail. "But you're diabetic!" I cried, trying to hold the pumpkins out of reach, "Joanne! Consider your health!" Deftly, Joanne spun around, delivering a roundhouse kick before administrating a painful armbar forcing me and my (stolen) pumpkins into submission. Confiscating one candy pumpkin, she then handed back the container, demanding that I return my ill-gotten gain. "I'll be watching," she threatened, motioning to her video monitor. I sighed, returning the container to Mr. King's cubby...my candy-confiscating crime-spree over. For now.