So Ma dukes (this is often how I refer to my mother) comes into Brooklyn to check out our new apartment. She loves it. we munch on the Thai food she brought in and we walk to the new bar on Cortelyou; Sycamore. We have drinks. We, as usual, get into a deep conversion about x, y and z while subconsciously ignoring our manly company. Ma dukes speaks of issues at work, dealing with both children and teachers. We continue to talk and I remember how I thought that teachers had no life outside the classroom, literally. To see a teacher in the mall or even interact with another teacher in the halls (talking about their personal life) was surreal. So when I had Ms. Mills as my sixth grade elementary school teacher, and she caught us passing notes she became the evil "real person" that we, unfortunately knew she was. She found our note, picked it up, and read it to herself. It said nothing of importance or anything fun or incriminating. I asked her if she was mad and if we were in trouble. I remember her exact words. She looked at us and said, "Oh, I don't get mad , I get even". Yeah, that's right. I said I was in sixth grade...Son.of.a.bitch
Let's talk tomorrow.