When I returned to work after my birthday weekend I had lots of emails and phone calls to catch up on. I’m teaching two knitting classes next month and had emailed the students (signing off with just my first and last name) about color preferences as I am getting the yarn (because the last time I asked students to buy their own WOOL yarn, half of them showed up with acrylic). There’s a big age range for the students, with some of the older ones sounding far less mature than the younger ones. And while that adds an entirely new dimension to my stress, sometimes it’s nice to know that there are some kids out there who aren’t terrifyingly rude and nasty. However, sometimes it can be a little jarring on a personal level.
The 14-year-old, in what I can only assume was an effort to sound more grown-up and business-like in an email to a teacher, called me “Mrs. [MyLastName].”
For three whole minutes I thought she had mistakenly sent me an email she had intended for my Mom.
But no, it was for me. I was the Mrs.
Don’t forget about the Birthday contest, going on until 1/31/08 at midnight