I’m enjoying this fate-freighted fantasy. Vesuvia has erupted. She reminds me of the “Music Nun” who visited our classroom once a year in grade school. I was maybe 11 at the time. She thought I was deliberately singing off key from the rest of the kids, and she’d raise that long stick just like Vesuvia and whack me across the knuckles. I’d fail again and she’d whack me again. Finally, I just pretended to sing along with the others, and she was satisfied. Or she just gave up. I had the same dread when our music minister’s wife sat beside me during a hymn. She didn’t have a stick though.
I’m enjoying this fate-freighted fantasy. Vesuvia has erupted. She reminds me of the “Music Nun” who visited our classroom once a year in grade school. I was maybe 11 at the time. She thought I was deliberately singing off key from the rest of the kids, and she’d raise that long stick just like Vesuvia and whack me across the knuckles. I’d fail again and she’d whack me again. Finally, I just pretended to sing along with the others, and she was satisfied. Or she just gave up. I had the same dread when our music minister’s wife sat beside me during a hymn. She didn’t have a stick though.