Gimme Your Heart, Make It Real, Or Else Forget About It

So, they assigned me to Kindergarten.

Fucking FIVE year olds.

No, no. Not fucking five year olds, because that's a) gross, and b) gross. But I do not like five year olds. I do not like the way you can't be too harsh with them, because they are easily upset. I hate the way that they CRY at everything. I despise the way everything about them is so little and easily crushable. Actually, I think that I am allergic to small children, for my eye is itching in the way it usually does when a cat is around. And I am scratchy all over. And I have been sneezing all day, and coughing, spewing my lovely big-person germs all over the vulnerable little ones. Woo yeh.

And the worst bit?

I'm referred to as MISS. BOWMAN.

Double ewe tee eff? It's ODD. And WEIRD. And DISCONCERTING. Miss. Bowman? Get out. Actually, only the teachers call me that. The ickle kiddies call me Cassie. Why? Because that is my name.

I have decided I'd like to be a kid again. They spend the day writing - albeit badly (example : "i bowt a tabol an a cher an i wotchd star was wiv mi sista". Actually, that sounds like MSN speak.) - about their weekend, doing a "Movement and Dance" session, where they flail their miniscule arms around like broken windmills on speed, sticking pretty glittery things onto card, learning how to write "a" and how to read "want". Everything is just spoonfed to them. Particularly at lunch. Hahaha. So funny. Shh.

Funnily enough, only a few of the teachers recognised me. I spent breaktime basking in compliments such as, "Oh, she looks so grown up!" and

Oh, no, wait, that was it.

Do you know what I'm doing tomorrow? Do you care? No? Good.

Tomorrow, I am helping out with Athletics.

What kind of sick joke IS this?