Sometimes, I entertain myself.
Here is a funny (and sadly true) story for you. Yesterday, the second day of school, I realized that I am senile.
se·nile /ˈsēˌnīl/-of, relating to, exhibiting, or characteristic of old age <senile weakness>; especially : exhibiting a loss of cognitive abilities (as memory) associated with old age
At the end of the day, I saw a group of my students who were in 3rd grade last year. They were with Mrs. Line, reading a math pre-test. I asked what they were doing. Mrs. Line replied, “We are reading over this to make sure everyone has their accommodations because [she] couldn’t remember who all gets read to.”
(I thought of Mrs. T as the “she” because she was the girls' 3rd grade math teacher.)
I put my hand on my hip, and with question in my voice, added “She can’t remember?!” as I began pointing my index finger around the room, adding to the previous statement. “You girls need to tell Mrs. T that Mrs. Dawson said she is senile! SEE-NILE! It’s ok. You tell her I said that.”
Following my outburst, with a straight face, and monotone voice,
mon·o·tone play_w2("M0399800") (m n -t n )-Sameness or dull repetition in sound, style, manner, or color
Mrs. Line stated,” Uh, Mrs. Dawson, the girls are in 4th grade now.”
Paralyzed, I pointed both of my index fingers toward my chest and said proudly,” Senile.” Then, standing tall, I walked out of the room.