The snow day.
The weather forecast is calling for snow overnight, my assistant principal did a test of our "phone master" system that sends each of us an alert when school is closed, and the skies are becoming that precious shade of so-pale-gray-that-it's-almost-white, so I am bracing myself for a possible day off tomorrow. I probably just jinxed it by talking about it, though, so I better go do my snow day dance.
I ordinarily wouldn't be so excited about a day off so early in the winter, but I had to concede defeat to this respiratory thing and go to the doctor today, and a day off would be so fabulous. As I type, it feels like a small creature is trying to beat its way out of the sinuses above my right eye. Of course, I am on an antibiotic (anybody else feel incredibly guilty when prescribed one in the face of all the talk about how they're overprescribed and creating superbugs and all that?), and that should kill the creature soon enough. But, man, wouldn't I love to get a 5am "Go back to bed" phone call tomorrow morning.
I know you hate me, all of you who work real jobs and who have to go to work even if Armageddon comes and the interstate highway you travel gets closed down by Satan-sent lava flows. But just think of this--when the dusting of snow melts and I go back to work, I have to face 1500 hormonal, smart-mouthed, eye-rolling, know-it-all teenagers.
Would you still want to trade me?