“Where did this come from?” I wondered out loud, pulling a box of Camembert out of my bag this morning after ferreting around for my reading glasses in the staff room.
My colleagues just stared at it in an uninterested malaise.
“Maybe you just put it in your bag when you were shopping, Pinky,” suggested Kyles, stifling a wearied yawn.
“No... I don’t even buy this brand,” I replied in bewilderment.
“Maybe it’s the menopause… and you just forgot,” said Kaz.
“It’s not the bloody menopause!” I grouched, pulling out my phone to take a photo of the mystery fromage.
“OH!” cried Adriana, one of the Grade One teachers. “Now I see your ploy, Pinky. This is just a set up for your blog. I knew your blog was a fake! Every week I read it and there’s some new sensational bloody drama. You’re just making all that stuff up.”
I couldn’t speak. My blog... a ruse? Me… melodramatic?
I shuffled off to the loo, feeling disembowelled… eviscerated.
“How could anyone possibly think I’d deliberately plant a box of cheese in my handbag for the sole purpose of garnering attention?” I huffed sitting on the toilet, trembling and injured as a baby bluebird with a brutally broken wing.
“Right that’s it! You’re on the blog!” I snapped at the complaining whistle-blower after marching out and taking her photo. ‘That’ll teach her to label me as being obsessively pre-occupied with my own personal agenda,’ I thought.
Yes... you hide your head in shame!
But I still didn’t know where the camembert came from.
I texted Scotto with shaking hands.
No enlightenment there.
I asked Sue the Librarian if she had any insight.
“It’s probably just that you forgot you put it in your bag because of the menopause,” she offered kindly.
“Maybe someone put it in your bag because they thought you might like it to go with your wine, Pinky,” volunteered Alan the P.E. teacher when I grilled him.
‘Really??’ I pondered anxiously. ‘Do that many people know about my drinking habits?’
I sat in the staffroom and debriefed my friend Lyndal, who attempted to comfort me with her wise words,
“I forget lots of things too now I’m at this time of life. It’s just menopause.”
Mmmmm... But despite all of their ageist, bloody attitudes, I know full well I did not shoplift, buy,or even lay eyes before on that damn cheese and I have no idea where it came from.
But I still didn’t know where the camembert came from.
I texted Scotto with shaking hands.
No enlightenment there.
I asked Sue the Librarian if she had any insight.
“It’s probably just that you forgot you put it in your bag because of the menopause,” she offered kindly.
“Maybe someone put it in your bag because they thought you might like it to go with your wine, Pinky,” volunteered Alan the P.E. teacher when I grilled him.
‘Really??’ I pondered anxiously. ‘Do that many people know about my drinking habits?’
I sat in the staffroom and debriefed my friend Lyndal, who attempted to comfort me with her wise words,
“I forget lots of things too now I’m at this time of life. It’s just menopause.”
Mmmmm... But despite all of their ageist, bloody attitudes, I know full well I did not shoplift, buy,or even lay eyes before on that damn cheese and I have no idea where it came from.
If anyone does know can you please put me out of my distressing and shocking suffering?
