I stopped off at the little bar on the way home from work, hoping to have a pint or two while writing my brother a letter. Some things have been really bugging me lately. I could fire off an e-mail to him, and it would be easier and more time efficient for sure, but I like letters. I like silly writing paper and a nice pen. I'm simple. Perhaps you couldn't understand how pleased a sharp pencil makes me. When I first started working at my school, my boss told me not to bring the office's pencil sharpener to class. I laughed. (She also told me not to let the kids out of class to go to the washroom - and I laughed at that as well!) Kids need to be able to take a pee, or sharpen their pencils if they break - or have a drink of water, for that matter as far as I'm concerned. But that's neither here nor there.
I wanted to write my brother a letter, but two paragraphs in my stalker showed up. The Director had called me at home and since I wasn't there, he figured he'd try the bar on the way to my place. Tonight he got it right. I like him well enough, but he can't speak English, and he is almost old enough to be my father. I've become a master at making myself understood with a notebook full of doodles and a lot of patience. Thing is, the Director has instructed too many of the businesses in my sleepy town to call him if I show up. Three weeks ago when I went for Joy's farewell dinner, The Director caught up with me after. He knew where I'd been for dinner because the owner had called him to tell him I was there. He didn't show up because I was with people, but he'll turn up a lot of times if I'm on my own. And I'm often on my own. So I've either got to find some new places to go that are off the radar, or resign myself to having some father-figure company. But he is really kind. And he thinks I'm hilarious.
Things at work aren't fantastic. The new teacher speaks English so poorly I can almost feel physical pain trying to talk to her. She spends a lot of any given break staring at me in the Teacher's Room trying to formulate a question to start a conversation. Todays's question was, "Do you like small man?" I told her I didn't care, so she followed up with a "you don't like man?"
("No. I don't. Men suck. I'm a raving lesbian. Wanna make out?")
"No," I said slowly, "I like men. I just don't care how tall thay are."
She had been on a blind date. I can't find the word right now, but there is one - for a 1st meeting with someone who may become your husband - here in Korea. The fact that the new co-teacher's perhaps betrothed was 2 centimetres shorter than her was a dealbreaker.
I told her, "If you can find someone who's smart, kind, and funny, jump on them and never let them get away!"
She heard, "Blah blah blah blabbity blah blabbity blabba blah blah."
"How are you?" I asked.
"I'mu pine tenk you, and you?" she replied.
And we smiled at one another.
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