I thought of another embarrassing moment. Fortunately, none of these stories so far have involved the wrong substance coming out of the wrong body orifice at the wrong time. Nonetheless, they're still embarrassing.
When I was in first grade, our teacher, Miss Proulx, wanted us to do everything exactly the same. We read Dick and Jane. We had math worksheets. And we had "art". I can't even remember how often we had "art" but our projects were all completely consistent with each other. She'd show us how to make the "art" and then the people who did the best job of imitating her example would have their work displayed on the bulletin board. (Similarly, if you did a good job on your math worksheet, that was displayed too.)
So, for example, at Thanksgiving, we had to trace our hands and draw in a turkey face on the thumb -- that kind of thing.
In the spring, we were supposed to make a kite. I think it involved large rectangles of construction paper with smaller squares of construction paper affixed to a string, or affixed to a string that was on a larger piece of paper, something clever like that.
We were each given all the materials and a piece of scrap paper with a big dollop of paste on it. Miss Proulx stood at the front and showed us how to "create" our kites. It was, even for a six year old, kind of boring. So I scooped up a tiny bit of paste and put it in my mouth. Interesting. I took another little scoop. Before Miss Proulx had turned around to face the class, I had eaten all my paste.
We hadn't even started to make our kites, and my paste was gone. I had to call her over and ask for more. But I ask you, if they didn't mean for people to eat it, why did they give it a mint flavor?
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