Mrs. Hillbilly Mom-0
That's today's score, in the war on moochers.
A new kid showed up today, one of two new kids, just released from a different kind of school. He did not have a pencil. "Way to go," I told him. "Show up for the first day of school with no pencil. You're off to a good start." He had been prancing around the room before the bell, high-fiving his kindred spirits, gamboling like a golden retriever pup, all smiles and fresh crewcut, not investing one iota of effort into procuring a pencil from one of his peers.
"All my stuff is still at my other school," he said.
To which the other new release commented, "You still owe them one more day. You left a day early." Which would explain why his stuff was still there. Since nobody else loaned him a pencil, I begrudgingly dug out an old #2. He kept it. I should have known. Once a taker of things that don't belong to you, always a taker of things that don't belong to you.
The other notch on the scorecard went to the little churchmouse boy who asked to use my eraser. My Pink Pet. I've had it several years. It was on my desk, so I loaned it, with the attitude that if you can't trust a churchmouse, who can you trust?
Apparently, nobody. He carved his initials into my Pink Pet.
Hum along with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom: handbasket, handbasket, I'm going to invest in handbaskets, and rule the world. What's left of it.