Dear Sixth Graders,
I know you are used to having a sunny, peppy, show-tune warbling teacher. I wear sparkly shoes and I give you nicknames and I cry with you over Tuck Everlasting and take you outside to read under the trees in the springtime. I'm generally fairly lovely to be with.
But you see, dear ones, there comes a time in most sunny women's lives when the rainclouds drift by, covering up the sunbeams, and those rainclouds have a name. They are called PMS. And they are dark and scary, and full of weepiness, and sometimes, darlings, they make thunderous noises. Reeeeaaalllly loud ones.
Like today, for instance. I was perfectly well intentioned in my plan to continue our rousing game of Greek Test Review Bingo. I really was excited, and I the little prizes you requested - Hershey Bars, Swedish fish, and a few books and other random crap prizes that you don't realize your predecesors gave me last year for Christmas. But seriously...is it that HARD to keep the bingo chips ON the desk? Do you HAVE TO KEEP DROPPING THEM ON THE FLOOR? Since you don't have chalkboards any more in your modern classrooms, let me explain to you what NAILS on a chalkboard SOUNDS LIKE. You LIKE that? No?? Well, the sound of the FREAKING BINGO CHIPS hitting the floor every THREE SECONDS is exactly the SAME to me! DO YOU HEAR ME??? I will put them back in the coffee can right this red hot second! I will disqualify you from every future bingo game in your entire middle school career and I will CRUCIFY you on your report card and make sure you get GROUNDED FOR THE ENTIRE SUMMER. Have I made myself clear?????
Now, if you were smart, you would try to sit very still, you would not make eye contact with the beast that is now inhabiting your gentle, goofy teacher-lady, and tomorrow, you would bring her chocolate. And not the freaking Hershey bars, people. The good kind. Or gummy frogs. Those work, too.
In two days, I'll be nicer. In ten years, approximately half of you (the female half) will look back on your middle school years, reflecting warmly about your usually warm and smiley teacher, who unexpectly would be manic and grumpy... hmmm...once a month. "Ooooh!" you'll say, knowingly. "I get it now." And I so hope you'll forgive me.
The Shell of Your Teacher,
Soon to Return to Normal