Now for the weird segue.

My mom is totally cool. We had a great mother's day phone conversation. Even if it was speckled with wedding controversy. I wrote a special poem for my sister's nuptials and no one else gets to hear me read it at their wedding, period. Lick the sack if you don't like it. She was most interested in my rememberences of asshole teachers in my past. The Sandler scrotum eater came up, see my "another dick from my past" entry for details. And also a particularily nasty incident with my second grade teacher Mrs. Brent. She was involved in the "icky multiple colored pens" entry, this story however is more on the scatalogical side.

Mrs. Brent was a tight assed dried up witch. Interesting how people who are incapable of successfully breeding because of mixed up organs or just were miserable creatures that no one ever wanted to share genetics with, wind up responsible for the well being of other people's children. She was adamant that no one was ever allowed to go to the bathroom after recess, because we should have done that on our own time. You see urination and defication is not approved class work. So if your bladder was busting, thats too bad for you kiddo.

About fifteen minutes after recess my doo doo alert goes up, you are about to drop anchor my boy says my colon. I raise my hand and ask Mrs. Brent if I could go potty. She snaps at me and reiterates the whole bathroom is something that is reserved for our personal time, not her valuable class time.

Another fifteen minutes go by and I'm in trouble. Veins popping out of my neck, sweat running down my spine, beet red face, I gasp for air and raise my hand pleading that she allow me to go to the rest room. She tears into me, calls me stupid and out of control, and that if I want to act like a little monster who interrupts her for trivial matters that I will be sent to detention. She had a scary halloween like face that cracked and shivered with every shreik.

Another five minutes pass and its go time. I launch from my desk and speed out the door. Mrs. Brent screams for me to return to my seat. I race down the hallway towards the bathroom. She catches up to me and seizes my arm. As she spins me around to discipline me, I unload into my pants.

She actually becomes furious that I would have the audacity to crap my pants. She drags me into the little girls room. Strips me completely naked in the middle of the room. Started scrubbing me down with soap and water. Shivering, nude, and covered in lather, a gaggle of fifth grade girls swarm in, take one look and break into hysterical laughter. Mrs. Brent hussles them out. Embarassed, I want to cry as she wipes the soap off.

My mom is appalled hearing the story today. She asks why I didn't tell her. First, naked stories are generally something you don't want to share with your mommy when your a little boy. And I knew if I had told her, she would have cleaned that bitch's clock. She concurred, saying that she would have beat her into a puddle in front of the class. While I think its completely awesome that I have a super independent and strong mom now, back then it was a little weird having a tough mommy. And the image of her wiping the floor with my second grade teacher in front of my peers, was a daunting vision.

Apparently my mother wants to have a run down of all of the teachers from my past when we see each other in Dallas in a few days. Got me wondering if she is compiling a hit list.