Part II of the Stupidity Mini-Series

When last we left off, I had murdered someone's meal. "You know," Brad observed dryly, "you bring these things on yourself."  "But that's not true!" I exclaimed, "Most of the time, I'm in my classroom, minding my own business. I don't go looking for trouble. It walks through my door and finds ME."

Case-in-point:  Felicia. In-shape Felicia with glossy dark hair cascading down her back. Felicia...who doesn't drink Pepsi...or soda at all, for that matter. Felicia...who does not consider sugar one of the essential components of the Food Pyramid. "You're stuck in the 70s, Amy," Felicia gently corrected, "The antiquated pyramid ideology no longer exists. It's now a Food Plate."

Felicia, who waltzed in my door with a health release form and a colorful calendar. I was confused. My kids were confused. "You signed up for Zumba," Felicia explained. When my 4th graders and I were finished laughing hysterically, I drew a large (LARGE) imaginary circle to encompass my body with a dramatic flourishing finger. "Does this..." (another circle)..."look like a body that does Zumba?" "NO!" my 4th graders shouted confidently, supporting me (and, at the same time, making my self-esteem slightly plummet).

Felicia frowned and consulted her trusty clipboard. "It says right here that you signed up." It was my turn to frown. What diabolical mind would concoct such an evil scheme as to sign me up for an exercise class? Ty-ler (Channel Jerry snarling Newman's name on Seinfeld). "I'll just leave these with you," Felicia said, "and you can think about it." Oh...I was thinking alright. I was thinking about thumbtacks in chairs, slashed tires, suffered paper bags set on fire on front porches...I noticed some of my kids were still snickering. "Wait," I called to the quickly-departing Felicia, waving her back. "You'll do it?" she asked excitedly. I didn't like the idea that someone would sign me up for Zumba as a joke. I didn't like that my students thought the idea of me exercising was funny. I arranged an emergency exit strategy with Felicia (just in case) and then signed on the dotted line. My kids got quiet QUICK.

Later, I stormed down the corridor to a waiting Tyler who stood armed with an open canister of little pumpkin candy corns. He held one out, extended, like a trainer dangling a dead rat over an alligator pit. "I do NOT forgive you," I snapped, snatching the candy from his hand. Confusion crossed his face as he quickly inventoried his fingers. "Forgive me for what?" he asked, grabbing another pumpkin to ward me off, "I didn't do anything!" "You signed me up for Zumba!" I shouted before popping another pumpkin in my mouth. "I swear I didn't!" he insisted, continuing to back up until he was crushed against his cubbies. I paused, chewing reflectively. Tyler was a LOT of things. Overly-enthusiastic. Ridiculously positive. Annoying. A big ol' jerk. But he wasn't a liar. Hmmm. He handed me another pumpkin while I thought some more.  "You know...you're not the only Amy M in the building," he mused. My eyes widened. My face reddened. And in my heart...I knew. I had falsely accused Tyler of malicious and fraudulent exercise extortion. Fortunately, my mouth was too full of pumpkins to apologize.