As the Director of Studies I should be exempt from the 'Crap Classes'. The ones that give you more stress than gratification.
Put frankly, the ones with zit-faced, BO ridden, back talking pre-pubescent kids.
Somehow I got stuck with such class, and by 7pm Thursday Evenings, not only has all my make-up worn off, but my nerves are burnt to a crisp. Aside from the contraceptive like effects of spending 3 hours with 11-15 year olds, I rarely find any positive points.
But sometime between climbing the walls and aiming spitballs at the back of my head, one of my little 11-year old rugrats produced this:
I dont know why I love this letter. It just made me smile and laugh and kinda love this kid.
Until, of course, he puts crazy glue on my chair again.