Salad. Baked potato with cheese. Or beef and cheese nachos.
Those are your choices today.
I say something along those lines every morning to my 2nd graders before taking their lunch count. Today I was met with a chorus of groans and moans. I put two fingers up (our classroom quiet signal) then I pressed them to my lips (my personal sign for "seriously get quiet").
I waited for the class to settle into their chairs and look in my direction. I scanned the room and raised my eyebrows, impregnating my pause for dramatic effect.
When I was your age, we only had one thing on the menu.
Michael clutched his chest and gasped for air.
Ohhhh! That's hurtful!
All the other students nodded in agreement.
That's hurtful. (They echoed.)
I trotted over to my desk with a massive grin on my face. I jotted the exchange down in my notebook, so I wouldn't forget it. Always a follower, Michael had bounded out of his seat and was looking over my shoulder at what I had written.
You think I'm funny.
Then he smiled.
Yes, I think you're funny.
Michael walked back to seat still clutching his little heart. (And mine.)
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