It’s Coming Back To Bite Me.

It just occurred to me this morning that all of those times in high school I used the “late to class” slips I took from the guidance counselor’s office–in my junior year when I spent time assisting in that office–and filled out as officially as possible and handed to my Spanish teacher two or three times each week so that I would be excused from the first half of class and easily get away with spending time with Jim during his lunch period, and my teacher didn’t mind because I had an “A” in the class, and she’d say, “No problem, Mercedes”, which is the name I picked for Spanish class not because I liked it as a Spanish name but I loved it as a German car, well, that’s going to haunt me today through Saturday.

That said, I’m glad to have traded a rudimentary knowledge of the Spanish language for the life that I have with Jim, even if it means I’ll be trying to put myself in situations where I only have to say “Por favor”, “Gracias”, and “Donde esta la biblioteca”, which I’m pretty sure I learned from the movie “Dodgeball”.

Stay tuned.

(Also, sorry Mom. But I DID finish with an A!)

It's not as much as you would think.