Memory Mondays

24 Feb

Image(I was the fattest baby ever.. I actually think i’m holding down my middle finger so I won’t flip off the photographer. I bet he was such a dick)

Everyone hates Mondays..I get it. There’s no need to post it on Facebook or Instagram it. WE ALL AGREE it fucking sucks! Keep it to yourself. So I thought that making Monday something to look forward to would be worth it ( I fucking hate Mondays so much). So I walked into work today after taking an hour and a half lunch (to get my nails done) and it was like I walked into a wall of farts. Legitimately I was worried someone shit themselves.  I get it, you have to fart that’s fine but this was unlike anything I have ever witnessed.  The smell legit almost knocked me over. I would usually blame the engineers because they eat what looks like roadkill, but the culprit was on the Sales side. Some poor, hungover soul almost shit their pants and I legit smelled every whiff of it. So after giving dirty looks to every person I passed walking to my cubicle it hit me that the fart scent was familiar…..

At that moment I was automatically transported back to 5th grade Italian class at Saint Raphael’s. Don’t ask me why I was taking Italian, but I did.. And it was fucking awful. We had this one Italian teacher who legit barely spoke English. Her kids went to our school for free, so i’m sure she wrote up a fake resume like any smart person would and was just half assing her way through each class. Let’s call her Mrs. D for security reasons (Medford Mustangs you know who i’m talking about). I’m not sure if it was her enormous consumption of Italian sausage that made her smell like a nursing home diaper or if she had IBS, but let me tell you something.. her classroom was unbearable. For a private school to hire a shit smelling Italian that took guts. The only Italian thing I can say now is, “sleeping baby.” Which is kinda fucked up now that I think about it. All I learned from that woman was that being Italian meant smelling like cow shit and having the ability to make homemade red sauce, being Irish was never so cool and Prego never tasted so good. Oddly enough my best friend is half Italian but only half so It doesn’t count…(Sorry Ky 143)

Whenever I think of Saint Raphael’s I think of plaid uniforms, the smell of farts, and Strawberry candies. Those candies that no one every bought but everyone ate? What the fuck were those? The candies that you grandmother had at the bottom of her purse covered in crumbs… those ones. They were almost like pot for teachers. And Honestly i’d probably spend $20 on a bag of them now so. I remember sucking on them until the gooey center broke open.(That sounds wicked fucked up, but it’s true) I would have sold my soul for 10 of those mother fuckers back in the day. Teachers would deal them out when kids needed to “relax” and take a break. The best part was in the Spring when you got to eat them with the lights off, because it was hot and Saint Raphael’s was too poor to get AC. Catholic School was the Shit so take a big whiff. 





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