Tonight, instead of watching the Season Three Mad Men Marathon, I'll be at yet another school board meeting. My pretty speech is writ. I'm weary of fighting for adequate staffing and I daresay the school board might be weary of seeing my face at every meeting. Tonight they'll make decisions and then Mr. D and I will make ours. The superintendent will propose hiring a part-time Pre-K teacher and moving a crappy full-time Pre-K teacher up to Kindergarten. The crappy teacher is on maternity leave until January. This proposal is supposed to appease parents who've been circulating petitions and expressing outrage about the staffing plan for months. Because apparently we're dumb enough to forget that they forced the resignation of a good full-time Kindergarten teacher and the enrollment for the incoming Kindergarten class is up from the previous year's. Essentially, more kids, fewer teachers. But by pretending we're getting a full-time Kindergarten teacher!, the superintendent believes the parents will shut up and go away. She conveniently forgets that we asked for two full-time teachers. One to replace the resignation and another to accomodate the additional students in this class.
Did you follow all of that?
I've thought about what my Ranty-Pants should look like for this meeting--black gabardine power-business pants with a full leg worn with high heels? Comfortable broken-in blue jeans with a hole in one knee? Cargo khakis with pockets? Or should I wear shorts?
No, I'll go looking like Betty Draper--cool, calm, collected. Who'd have the nuts to disagree with anyone looking like this?
And when they ask me to stub out my cigarette, I'll say in a quiet, level voice, "I'm sorry," before grinding out the butt on the table and continuing with my speech.
After the meeting adjourns, I'll send Carla home for the night, tuck in the kids and pour myself a Manhatten out of the decanter on my sideboard.
I'll light another cigarette while finishing my cocktail and then head upstairs to bed. With Don.
Now to find bobby pins and styling gel so I can get those waves in my hair...
Spill it, reader. What do your ranty-pants look like?