Coffee: Maxwell House Drip, Office Coffee
I only know one language. Sometimes, I wish I knew more.
In elementary there was this Spanish teacher. She came around to classes once a week. I liked her because she was pretty and paid attention to me. My parents liked her because I was doing well in class. I don’t know the mechanics of it, but they worked something out where she’d tutor me after school twice a week. I might be getting the numbers wrong, but that’s what it felt like.
Anyway, I didn’t learn any Spanish. I knew some words, but that’s it. I don’t remember what we studied, or any of the extra lessons I did. Instead, I remember this one time she and I helped set up a buffet for some kind of open house. I stole a couple pigs-in-a-blanket. I’d never had them. She thought that was funny, or at least my nine-year-old mine thought she did. I remember feeling good about the stealing, and about being alone in this big school with my teacher, like I’d gotten one over, like I was an important part of the world.
She taught me how to say pig in Spanish. I remember her teaching it to me, but don’t remember the word.
Currently Reading: NOTHING! will pick a new book soon
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They had chains which they fastened about the leg of the nearest hog, and the other end of the chain they hooked into one of the rings upon the wheel. So, as the wheel turned, a hog was suddenly jerked off his feet and borne aloft.Upton Sinclair, The Jungle