Mrs May and the End of Half Term

This is Mrs May.

Mrs May has made it to the end of another half term.

During this half term, Mrs May’s fixed smile has never wavered.

Mrs May has kept her shit together even when all around her were losing theirs. Both metaphorically and, in the case of certain members of her class, also literally.

Mrs May has remained calm and sanguine even as the mothers of Wilf and Wilma, and Nadim and Anneena, queued up outside of her classroom each morning to demand a precise itinerary of the programme she would be putting in place for their Gifted and Talented children in order to ensure that they excelled in their SATS.

Mrs May has given grateful thanks every single day for the comparatively low maintenance parents such as those of Biff and Chip; who may be laissez-faire to the point of potential negligence, but at least are not constantly on her fucking case about the pointless and meaningless exercise which is Year 2 SATS.

Mrs May has not lost the plot entirely when, despite her months of time and investment in teaching her class the rudiments of SPAG, Biff declared a verb to be “the thing that you grow in pots”, and Chip managed to misspell his own name at the top of his SATS paper.

Mrs May has persevered with attempting to teach her class fractions, and has done so without once screaming “IT IS NOT FUCKING DIFFICULT, ARE YOU FUCKING MORONS?” and smashing her face against the interactive whiteboard.

Mrs May has nodded and pretended that she gives a shit as the gathering parents arrive to collect their feral hellbeasts for the half term break and delay her longed for exit with their twitterings about what they will be getting up to with their little darlings during half term.

And Mrs May has never let slip for a moment that she doesn’t give a flying fuck what said feral hellbeasts are doing during their half term break, so long as they are a very, very long way away from her.

Mrs May is, frankly, a fucking credit to her profession, and could not be more deserving of the vat of Shiraz which she is about to pour herself and fall face first into.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s