I am taking a course again, because if I can complete the last three credits remaining I will graduate in the class of 2007. That is my goal. One this semester. Two next. We’ll see.
Given that I only have electives left, I am currently enrolled in Myths of Love, Sex & Marriage. Perhaps a topic a mature student might actually have an edge on these young pups? We’ll see.
And yesterday was class night. I change out of my work attire, don a more casual pair of jeans and t-shirt, and as an afterthought grab a hoodie at the foot of the bed. I’ve been sick recently and had fallen asleep in my clothes the other night and just peeled off the hoodie when I became overheated. Last night I didn’t actually put the hoodie on, but kind of casually slumped it over my shoulders, hopped in the van, and drove to class.
Parking is far more plentiful for evening classes than for daytime ones. The lot is probably half full or less. And as I stroll across the lot to my building I feel something graze the back of my feet. A fellow student (one of those young pups previously mentioned), walking some distance away from me, yells that I have dropped something. I turn… and look at the ground… and it is my shirt. Not the one I was wearing… but one that I had apparently slug over my shoulders with the hoodie. And a parking lot of students watched as my dirty laundry apparently slowly skidded down my back, over my butt, and onto the pavement at my feet. If I were ever a candidate for“What Not to Wear” I’m sure they’d have gotten some charming “before” footage just then.
I picked up the shirt, gave it a flick, slung it over my arm like a waiter’s cloth, and yelled, “Don’t you hate when you forget to use dryer sheets?!” Several students smirked. Several shook their heads. It was a very long class.