As you may already know, in a previous life I was a nerd. That trait started early. From the very beginning I was a polite goody-two-shoes of a girl, speak-when-you're-spoken-to wimp.
I sat up straight, respected the teacher, and did what I was told. I rarely got in trouble. I had one detention in middle school. I forgot to have a parent sign my science lab homework to prove they'd seen my grade. I got an A on the damn thing; what, I was hiding it from my parents?
I would even wait, no matter how much I had to go, until the teacher was finished teaching a subject. Then I would walk up to the desk and ask if I could be excused.
My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Schmidt was finished her math lecture. I walked up to her desk while students played about the room. Two girls drew on the blackboard behind Mrs. Schmidt's head. I politely waited silently for Mrs. Schmidt to notice me. She raised her head and asked what I wanted.
"Mrs. Schmidt, may I please go to the bathroom," was what I intended to say. That's not how it came out. Actually, only two words escaped my lips before a hand clamped over my face. My hand.
"Mrs. Shit. . . ," was what my sweet little mouth actually said before my hand could interrupt.
In shock, I stood there for what seemed like a half hour. The two girls at the blackboard had their hands over their mouths, too. Not in terror, or dismay like myself, but in mirth. Silently laughing hysterically. Mrs. Schmidt was known as a hard teacher, a mean teacher, tough as nails and who'd broken even the strongest-willed boys. Man, I knew I was in trouble.
Finally my hand removed itself from my face and I blurted out the only thing that made sense to say. "Never mind!"
Needless to say I didn't go to the bathroom for the rest of that day.