Wednesday, October 26, 2005


Just finished 23 bagillion parent conferences. They've really all gone very well this year. My partner claims that I talk too much and don't stay on schedule, but aside from that...all quite positive. Except for I had an unusual incident which really threw my Dynamic Conferencing Style off a bit.
Our 4th parent of the day entered our smallish conference room and brought with her a stinky-doo-doo aroma. My nose immediately curled and I struggled not to gag as I summoned kind words to say about her child. We amiably covered academics, social behavior, and attitude while I counted down the fifteen minutes until I could breathe with my mouth closed again. What was up with this woman? What kind of socially functioning adult walks around like this? I tried to avoid laughing because of the sudden intake of air that it cast upon my already affronted, very sensitive nose. It was during one of these moments of avoidance that I looked down.
Looked down and saw the brown streaky doodoo smears all over the floor under my chair. All over my shoe. I gasped. It was me!
"I'm so sorry, but there's dog doo all over my shoe!" I interrupted in a panic as I rushed about trying to wipe up the mess with Kleenex. I gagged and sputtered as my partner tried to maintain the dignity of our parent-teacher conference with me flailing about wiping up doo off the floor and my shoe. Hurlp! I gulped and tried to keep lunch down. It was one of the most foul smells I had encountered in a while.
I left the room to deposit my sullied rag into a trash can. "I got doo on my shoe!" I hissed to our librarian, quickly explaining our predicament as I rushed back to the conference. The smell greeted me as I returned. This was fabulous - now the other 19 parents were going to think we were sitting in there having a flatulence fest. Excellent.
The conference finally ended and we bid farewell to the parent. We did some brief exploratory research between conferences to investigate how exactly this dog poo came to be on my shoe. I hadn't actually left the building in hours. And that's when we came to a conclusion. It turns out that I had left a trail. A dookie trail through the library and all the way down the hall to just about where the kindergarten hall began. The reality set in. I had not stepped in dog doo. I had stepped in kinderdoo. I had kinderdoo on my shoe. My thoughts raced. Retchvomitnastysick! My expression immediately turned to putrid. I looked up to see my partner giggling like a ten year old. He lost no time in explaining to the next couple of parents exactly what that aroma was in our conference room. Sigh.
I think I'm going to change my blog's name to "What Are the Odds? Tales of the Pig"

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