Smell Ya Later

Today, the principal came in my room and asked if I could take my flats off the stage. (This was supposed to have been taken care of by my technical director.)

"Sure," I said, wondering where I was going to put them, since I would OBVIOUSLY have to DO EVERYTHING MYSELF.

"They're starting to put off a sort of odor," Mr. P said.

As he left, I thought (but did not say), "Did you or did you not spend the majority of your teaching career in a FOOTBALL LOCKER ROOM?"

Because ... come on. Which smells worse: eight sheets of plywood or thirty-five sweaty teenage boys dressed in LYCRA?