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I Feel Sorry For Your Husband

A couple of days ago, when I shared reflections from my week at school, I forgot to write about a conversation that made me chuckle.

My students know that I am a vegan.  The fact that I do not eat meat boggles their minds, so they bring it up every now and then.

They have expressed concern about me as well.

I frequently hear the question, “How are you getting your protein?”

I answer each time, but still the question comes up later.

Last week, one of my students asked the question yet again.

I responded by telling him that I eat beans.

All last week, I’d been taking in a small crock pot filled with the Black Bean Soup that I had made during the holidays.

I love the stuff.

The kids grew used to the smell.

That could be the factor that precipitated the question.

Regardless, I reminded my student that I eat a lot of beans.

He looked at me and said, “Boy, I feel sorry for your husband.”

Now, let’s get real here.

We’re all familiar with the bean song…

Beans, beans, the magical fruit,
The more you eat, the more you toot.
The more you toot, the better you feel.
Beans, beans for every meal.

Yeah, I know it’s juvenile, but I still giggle when I hear it.

Well, taking that into account, I knew, without him saying, what he was implying.

Well, I could not let his little quip go, and I can be quick on my feet with responses.

So, without missing a beat, I responded by telling him, “You shouldn’t feel badly for my husband.  You should feel badly for my students.”

I have no idea what he was doing at the time…messing with something on his desk perhaps…but I have to say that I derived much pleasure from the sight of him looking up, eyes wide open, as understanding flashed across his face.




What can I say?

Teachers are humans.


Oh, and my students were spared on Friday when my crock pot turned over as I was trying to remove it from the bag I’d toted it to school in.  I had been carrying the porcelain insert back and forth each day.  It fit perfectly inside the small, gift-sized store bags I’d picked up here and there…

Too perfectly.

I should have used the noodle God blessed me with and torn the bag off the insert.

But no.

I felt the need to meet the challenge of getting that pot out of the bag, one millimeter at a time.

In the process, I turned the thing over inside the bag.

There was no way to salvage the soup, so I stuck the entire bag inside two plastic Publix bags I found in my desk drawer.  I tied it securely so I wouldn’t smell it during the day.

And thus, my student was not reminded of our previous conversation.


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