Night Swimming

It’s September and that means that all three of us girls are back in school; Saeb in Kindergarten, Re settling into first grade and me back amongst the teenagers, ugh.
I plod along taking classes every semester with the knowledge that just before my 13 semesters of financial aid run out I will be granted a Bachelor’s Degree and a teaching license. I don’t mind the classes or the work; I truly enjoy the professors and the subject matter. What I cannot stand is this generation of young adults. I have spent the last 4 years immersed in a pool of spoiled, self-entitled brats.

I will not rant.

It has rained here for the last two days and I am glad, we need it.
It is in this kind of weather that I begin to understand trench foot, because I watch these kids walk around in the rain with no umbrellas, in jeans soaked to the knees and sneakers that look like they haven’t been dry in 6 months. It almost makes me forgive them for dirty flip-flop feet – GROSS! At least the flip-flop wearers will get clean feet and avoid the rot.
I steered clear of foot nastiness by wearing these inside my sensible shoes.
Night Blooming Sweetpeas in a OoaK colorway of Franklin on size 2 needles.
The Hubby wrote this a few years ago and it STILL makes me laugh, that last paragraph! – especially this time of year. I’m off to read 30 pages of this. Enjoy.



2 thoughts on “Night Swimming

  1. I took a college course in my mid twenties at a local community college back home wherein I was subjected to the torture of a room full of barely eighteen year olds. It was truly the worst eight months of my life. I could rant, lemme tell you. In every class we had, as we all floated around in one big mass of humanity, as though we were in some sort of vocational grade school (in hell), the instructors REPEATEDLY with little to no success had to ask LEGAL ADULTS to be quiet. Some of them literally had to beseech them to shut up. There were complaints to the head of the college about our class and how disruptive we were to other students in our courses. They never…shut…up. They never took anything seriously. I have no idea why they were there. And they were so freakin’ dumb. I really could go on and on on this subject, it gets me so fired up. I truly do weep for the future.

  2. Imagine the pain of poor Girl who has not even the litle voise within her to say things like “Yes, but you were their age once…” She IS their age, that generation of selfabsorbed self-entitled brats, monsters all. There is a concept called creative deprivation that was widely applied in our home. Holiday gifts were minimized. B-day gifts were minimized. It was about the holiday or the person not the gifts. They worked for money. They were taught to respect people, not just their elders. They were taught old-fashioned MANNERS. I would put even my son on his worst day against an average similarly aged individual any day of the week.

    I love Gail’s Boo-Boos. I also love the names – the hybrids, the night-blooming.

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