Judge not. Or do. I probably would.

warning: This post was written for Jan and Sarah, two curious cats who will regret ever wondering about such stories that ought not to be told. For the rest of you, read at your own discretion. It's not a very interesting story by any stretch of the imagination, despite all efforts made by me to make it something it's not. These efforts simply resulted in an ending that is unbefittingly inappropriate and disturbing.

~~~

On the topic of birthing stories....

Once upon a time in a sewing class far far away,

Laura made her teacher cry.

This doesn't happen.

But don't fear, it was for a good cause. Laura was apparently making some absurd face at a girl across the table.

(so Laura-esque of Laura, we might all agree)

Teacher took personal offense.

Ok, so Laura probably should have been listening to teacher.

Teacher shot a dirty look in Laura's general direction and encouraged students to listen to her, even if they thought she was boring.

Of course none of this could have been directed at Laura. This is in the days of high school innocence and teachers either don't know who Laura is or love her immensely because she doesn't say a word and always gets her homework in on time.
(yes, there was such a day)

Later on....

Teacher: "And some fabric is made from flax seeds!"

Girl sitting next to Laura (paraphrased): "What in the name of Hansel and his foolish sister Gretal is flax?"

Laura (in barely audible and probably quite suspicious whisper): "Flax shall be the name of my firstborn man-child."

Teacher (with glares worthy of lasercatz straight from outer darkness): "See me after classsssss."


So the day ended, and still unsure who the teacher was mad at or why, that entire corner of the room approached teacher to soothe her wounded soul.

It was then we found out that Laura is a disruptively disobedient devil-child.

It was then that the teacher wept openly.

(I still believe that this was more because my sewing, and not behavior, was consistently tragic)

It was that Christmas that Laura received a box of flaxseeds bearing the title:

Laura's first-born manchild

And it must have been nine-months previously that Laura made love to a flaxen muffin because she can think of no other possible way that the blessing (not mistake--children are never mistakes) of a man-child came to enrich her life.

(It was January when Laura disruptively and disobediently consumed the infant in the from of delicious breads and smoothies, after failing miserably in any and all attempts to sew him into a flaxen blanket.)




I DON'T GET IT EITHER.....i'm going to bed.