I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues

Today, I nearly became part of a very special club.
This esteemed establishment is only open to the select few (i.e) those who can prove that they really do want to be members of the Association, by demonstrating their credentials via the simple act of crying.

No, let me make it more explicit.

Blubbing.

We're not talking about simple tear-stained cheeks here. We're going the whole hog. We are bringing up inconsolably frustrating and totally dignity-shedding oceans of tears.

Think Alice in Wonderland and you're pretty much there.

This morning, my tenth grade class nearly reduced me to that state. They trod, trampled, in short, creamed me into the ground. I tried the various tricks and disciplinary methods but they were having none of it. They were baying for my blood

But not quite.

I'm glad to say that I didn't blub. I fumed, fretted and plotted my revenge but I didn't crack. They realised they had gone too far because the entire class en masse (well, probably not the entire class, but damned near most of them) actually showed up at the lunchtime detention that I had thrown in their direction.

For twenty minutes of sheer sweetness, I actually got some work out of them. Yes, they complained. Yes, they wanted to go to lunch and yes I let them go (eventually) but I did inflict some kind of retribution on the little you-know-whats.

Thursday will be an altogether different experience. I'm going to lay down the law, clear and simple.

The one thing I won't do is cry.

...at least, I'll try my best not to. As far as I'm concerned, I am already a signed-up member of too many clubs and the Desolate Teachers Society is not one that I plan to join soon, if ever.
I hear that they've got too many members anyway and the waiting lists are phenomenal.