The long term goal…upon my arrival (and the inevitable trips to the office for potential disciplinary action) I will be in such good graces with the powers-that-be, that there’s not much I won’t be permitted to get away with.
The short term goal…start the schmoozing of the most important person in the building.
No, not the principal.
Not even the teachers.
Of course, it is that lovely lady that sits behind the front desk, with the smile that welcomes you into the building. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the head honcho, the big kahuna, the master and commander. And she is the mark for a little plan I like to refer to as, “Operation, Cougar Town”.
Get in good with Mrs. T, and you’ve written your own ticket for an elementary school experience of smooth sailing.
After only four months of turning on the charm, I have accomplished the following feats:
*Acquired my own display wall for the art I create just for her.
*When I walk in the door, it’s a good bet that her mood and her day have significantly improved.
*Finally, it’s only a matter of time until the photo she snapped of the two of us finds a place of prominence in a frame on her desk.
Did I mention she asked me on a date?
That’s right, my cougar and I attended the High School Christmas concert where her sons preformed. Already bringing me to meet the family…my standing is officially golden.
I even brought along a stuffed dog that resembles her actual dog to show just how much I care about what she tells me. (All of you eye-rollers should give it a try, it worked like a charm!)
One of the other nostalgic parents was reminiscing about when their “now-senior-in-high-school-babies” was three, and even engaged in small talk with me about the name of my stuffed pup.
I, of course, do not have a name for every animal in the army of stuffed things I own, so off the cuff I called it “Kaylee”.
Trying to continue our in-depth conversation, he then asked if I had a real dog at home.
Without a wrinkle of a smile or an ounce of hesitation, I effortlessly replied,
“Yes. I have a big dog at home. His name is Shitter.”
And with that, our conversation was over. Finally. I was more interested in drinking in the enormity of the performance hall and dreaming of the day when I would be center stage entertaining crowds of people than continuing our conversation.
When the air finally began to refill the lungs of the innocent bystanders, my Mother’s only reply was, “We don’t even own a dog.”
I try to keep most things I say more high-brow, but you have to step in the trenches every now and then to reach the masses.
The most satisfying part of dropping the “shit-bomb”…when I swing by to visit my special lady, she greets me with an even bigger smile and a slight giggle.
Oh, I know what the ladies like. Take notes boys!
