i'm amused by my email correspondence, re: our wedding, with the church administrator - only because she used to be my 9th grade english teacher. (yes, michaela, yes.)
it's always strange to go from calling a teacher by "mrs." to using her first name, but that's what i'm doing now and i can't help but chuckle every time. i'm taking the chuckling as a great sign of maturity, since previous mentions of this woman caused quite a stir within my easily-manipulated nervous system.
see, that year i wrote a paper - on romeo and juliet- and i'm telling you, people, this thing was good. not my finest work, no. but good! solid! etc! i don't know what to tell you except that i don't write bad english papers. it's against my religion - the one where i worship a god of unending compulsions and irrational demands? yes, you may be familiar with its teachings.
so there i was, innocently expecting a grade in the A-/B+ range. sitting on my desk, twirling my flaxen hair, as yet innocent to the evils of this world.
but then she called me to her desk. and solemnly handed me the graded paper.
as i turned to walk away, she grabbed my arm.
(can you feel the drama building? my novel's gonna fund three houses! and a subaru outback!)
"you really missed the mark on this one, amy."
and then i died.
and what was the grade, you ask? 76. 76! just - outta the blue! a big, fat c. with that one swipe of her pen, my hopes of a career in anything, anything! - dashed! it all can change so quickly, people, this thing we call life.