Some People Are Just Buttholes....

and there's nothing you can do about it.

Cookies, this is a super important lesson to learn. And apparently, I have yet to learn it because as a super sensitive, highly emotional drama queen, Jesus is finding the need to put mega douchetards who behave horribly and rudely toward me, for no damn good reason, in my path over and over and over again. So I'm thinking I haven't learned it yet -duh, because it still affects me like a mofo every single time.

I haven't written about the LeDouchetards for several months. We had achieved a relatively peaceful detente, and life had progressed a little less bitterly. Today was the last day of school, and I received several gifts from my little ones, but no gift -not even a card, from the usual suspect. Before I continue, please let me make it clear that I expect nothing from my students, but I appreciate everything, no matter how big or small. I was hurt by that obvious oversight (especially when I remembered that the LeDouchetards had bought a birthday present for the friggin' cafeteria lady, but whatever), but it really wasn't unexpected.

What was unexpected was this:

During our class party this morning (which was a super cool glow in the dark party), the students had McDonald's for lunch. As we were eating, Mrs. LeDouchetard asked the other teacher in the room and another mother what they would like to drink. She didn't ask me, but I assumed it was because she knew what I would like.

Well, this bitch came back with a soda for every adult in the room. Except for me.

Burn.

I felt like I had physically been slapped. I was so angry, I began to shake. One of the adults noticed this blatant rudeness and offered me her drink, but I declined and told her I had left my drink in my classroom. The urge to cry was at the surface, not out of sadness, but out of fury.

Again, it shouldn't have surprised me. But it did. And I'm angry about it.

I did do something in my own passive aggressive way, which I feel a smidge badly about. I gave each child a large thank you card, thanking them for the gifts they had given me throughout the year and detailing all the things I loved about them and how much I enjoyed being their teacher. The son of the LeDouchetards didn't get a card. Obviously. The only thing that makes me feel badly is that technically it's not his fault. But. But I did it anyway.

And since all my kids parents are tight, as soon as those kids got to the parking lot, they started waving their cards in Mrs. LeDouchetard's face. Good.

Just because she's a butthole, doesn't mean I have to be a butthole. I don't want to be a butthole. Really, I don't.

But.

But don't push me. Because when push comes to shove, this cookie can be your worst nightmare.

Carry on.