We grow harsher and less tolerant as we grow older, and what we laughed off when we were more wrinkle-free suddenly assume a murderous aspect.
Such as Mrs. Mime.
I have known Mrs. Mime for almost five years now. She taught the princess for two years in elementary school, and now the Golden Boy is under her tutelage.
Now, I completely understand that teachers can’t be expected to remember the parents of all the students who pass through their classrooms, and I am not so unreasonable to wonder why, every fucking time she sees me, she acts as if it the absolutely first time she ever laid eyes on me, and not only that, she is wondering what the hell I am doing in the school and why do I need to talk to her.
No. I am ok with that. Seriously. Fine, keep forgetting me.
What has started to irritate me is the way she talks exaggeratedly slowly, and mimes the words she is saying when she speaks to me.
Now, I am willing to give her benefit of the doubt, and consider this a nervous tick, which she does to all parents, not just “immigrant parents”- even those “immigrant parents” who happen to speak flawless English.
Still. When she began mouthing her words at me, and started acting out what she was saying yesterday, I began to feel a red tide of fury rise within me.
“He was pulling his ear“…and she begins pulling her ear …”and then he started crying“… and here she draws her fingers down her cheeks, miming tears, “…and so we said we’ll call Mummy…” and now she begins dialling an imaginary telephone, and lifts the imaginary receiver to her ear. I feel tears of rage pricking at my eyes.
No, it is me. It is all me. I must learn to be more good, more tolerant, less annoyed by people. Everybody is fine, the problem is me.