Snakes are not Snacks, or are they?

Snakes are not snacks, right? And fuzzy / fizzy drinks?? Which is it?

Now that I've properly medicated my migraine, I'd like to put all the ridiculousness of my work day in order.

For starters, one of my 'to do' items was to get through the marking of 21 research papers on nutrition. Don't know how I expected to do this, with four hours of special event duty (involving a cute wallpapered MINI COOPER car, see below), one session professional training, and a test to finish preparing for teachers. But alas, the student writings are what provide the color and chuckle to my week, and I am grateful these reports on eating habits were there at my desk. As you might imagine, 'snack' and 'coke' are top ten words in the world of nutrition, fuzzy (fizzy) drinks and oh yes fatty asses, ooops, I mean fatty acids. When the first student said something like, 'my family has a bad habit of eating snakes in front of the TV', I was like, giggle giggle, funny little Microsoft typo, her family eats snakes, teehee. But as I went on to find fizzy spelled fuzzy, and acid spelled asses, and yep, coke spelled like this:: cock, I really started wondering where the paper dictionaries are, and the lined composition books, and spelling practice lists. Seriously, I am not making these up: 'family snaking is a big problem', 'our snake habit is harming our health', and 'sweet snakes are my weakness' were all among the neatly organized fairly well cited little research papers.

Between quick bouts of grading these gems, I had 'escort duty' at the business department mini-mall project, where local retailers, such as Mini Cooper, BMW, Body Shop and Sunglass Hut, set up stalls, to be run by students, for an exercise in retail management. Just as my monthly migraine was gearing up for a massive crescendo, I somehow got drafted to escort female students on Mini Cooper test drives, as it would be improper for the males running the MINI stall to be alone in the car with our female students. Yes, you are all thinking, come on Christina, how many of us get paid to sit in the passenger seat of a zippy car on a sunny day and let students drive us around with the sunroof open? Well, let me just share a few facts: Most of our students are not licensed drivers. Of those who are licensed, many simply have the license as a matter of their education, and do not actually get to practice real driving. In addition, as this was a marketing thing for MINI, I was told: let them enjoy the drive, read: let them blare Indian pop music with their friends in the back seat as you drive around nearly missing the light posts, curbs and security guards lining the route. And last facts: my migraine meds were simply not working and I am employed by an institution where calling in sick, or going home with a headache, is not an easily-done thing.

So it's no wonder that when I finally get home to my husband whose car had just been hit and run in front of the kids' school, after we just dented up the vehicle ourselves by backing into a local fisherman's well over the weekend, that I burst into hysterics. That's when I went into the house, found myself a snake, a fuzzy drink, and a bowlful of fatty asses.