You Dig Me?

We managed to lock Kris in the music cupboard today. We barricaded her in using only a music stand and our highly intelligent wit, and stood back to watch, as the door shook with the force of her throwing herself against the door. We looked on and laughed in a very sophisticated manner, as she attempted to retaliate, using a tambourine as her only aid.

Then Mrs. “Oh-So-Gay” Creagh lolloped in, wielding registers and whatnot. She waddled to the door, having seen it shake, and heard the noises, put fifty four and thirty two together, and hey presto. She quickly pulled out her "I Disapprove In A Large Way" face, and descended on Steve, demanding to know who was in the cupboard. Steve, like all good senior citizens should, denied all knowledge of the beast in the cupboard, who had ceased her escape attempts, and had begun playing a baleful war tune on the tambourine. Mrs. “I-Should-Be-Quarantined-Because-I-Have-Rabies” Creagh then exercised her full power, as she instructed Stephanie to open the door. She did so, and a distressed, wild eyed Tarasova fell out of the cupboard. Mrs. “Rubber-Rings-Are-A-Lot-Of-Help” Creagh eyed her in a suspicious fashion, but carried on in her pretend Scottish manner.

Sensing this to be the right time for love, I skipped over to Mrs. “Logic-Is-For-Pandas” Creagh, for a little chat. She proceeded to drag me to the library, in a surprisingly ape-like manner, informing me all along the way that I am a very bad person, and telling me that I should have read the Sixth Form Handout. I bet she hasn’t read it. I bet she can’t even read. She certainly can’t dress herself, as today, she was donning the pendulum from a cuckoo clock round her waist, and boots stolen from a cowboy. And that was all. No, not really. She was also wearing lip balm. Anyway, she carried on in the same vein, describing the many ways in which I had broken rules, whilst I made a mental note to write a letter of complaint to the school, telling them of how she had been lacking in compassion, completely unfair, and utterly inconsiderate to my situation.

Mrs. “I-Cook-Babies-In-Red-Wine-Vinegar” finished her lecture on being gay, and I eloped to the corner of the library, and proceeded to glare at her in a suitably defiant, and hopefully, surly fashion.