Fire-Breathing Mama Comes To School
Fire Breathing Mama Comes to School
She was snorting fire and breathing nails.
It was the first time I had met her, so I was taken aback.
Just a bit.
Her children had told me she did not care about them.
They were wrong.
She cared a lot.
She came into the school office and roasted up the
desks, lighting them up like the 4th of July with pure anger.
Apparently someone had called her child an ass.
What? A teacher? Surely not.
She dragged her scales around in an arrogant way,
Throwing people into hallways with her bulk.
Bullying her way into every corner, demanding to
be heard.
The teacher was summoned.
Luckily it was her twelve-minute lunch time.
She came running.
The child would not back down.
She insisted the teacher had called her an ass.
The teacher was confused. She knew she had not.
Suddenly she recalled something.
“I know,” she said, “I said that out of all the asinine answers I have ever heard, that one was the most creative.”
She was instructed by the principal to never use the word ‘asinine’ again.
The dragon lady was given a dictionary. She reluctantly stopped roasting the staff. All over now. Maybe.
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