Tuesday, November 30, 2010

"The Dog Ate My Homework."

I was brave and emailed this to one of my English Ed professors -- a female -- explaining my absence today. I don't have the chutzpa to send it to my male English Ed professor, whose class I also missed. So, due to my cowardess, I will post it on the World Wide Web for all to see:

Dear Dr. Dean,

Since I am not in class right now as I should be, I thought I'd write something tragic and comical to explain my absence.

I am on my period right now, and like any responsible female with a menstrual cycle, I carry around a small supply of tampons with me at all times. Today, I felt even more responsible since I remembered to pack a nutritious lunch of yogurt, soup, and an orange. "Wow, I am a competent, happy adult," I thought to myself.

It was going to be a great day. Or so I thought.

Pretty early in the morning, at work, I knew something was wrong because of some serious cramping. Perhaps it was not going to be a great day, but since I was prepared for the worst my period could throw at me, I did not fear.

By the time Engl 420 with Dr. Crowe was about to start, I knew I needed to go to the bathroom to change my tampon. My flow had been heavy today, and it would be my second trip before noon to take care of things. Imagine my horror when I reached down into the depths of my backpack, only to discover that my tampons -- conveniently paper wrapped, with a cardboard applicator, all so wonderfully absorbent and eager for moisture -- were soaking wet. In chicken broth. With parsley flakes clinging to them. In my backpack. On a very heavy period day. And that the chicken broth had also leaked onto homework. Books. A leather keychain from Uruguay. Post-it notes. My work notebook.

I do thank my lucky stars that my backpack is inversely waterproof, because the broth formed a small lake in the bottom of my backpack, prohibiting even one drop from escaping. No, everything sat in a lovely chicken broth marinade for probably an hour or more. Lucky me.

I improvised for Dr. Crowe's class, thinking I might make it and that miraculously I wouldn't smell too strongly of chicken soup as I held all my books and papers outside my backpack, piling my other smaller personal items in an upper, external pocket away from the chicken broth sea in my bag, with lumpy chunks of sodden paper towel frantically absorbing the mess. The mess was contained, but beyond that I still stunk of chicken, my things were getting more ruined by the minute, and I still needed a tampon desperately. So, I'm sorry to report that I fled for the confines of my tiny home south of campus.

And that is why, Dr. Dean, I was not in class today. I'll contact a classmate to get notes for the day, but would you please send me any handouts from today? If it is more convenient, I can pass by your office tomorrow, too.



PS - This story is 100% true. Devastatingly, horribly, wonderfully true.


Jen said...

hahaha, I'm sorry at your misfortune, but your rhetoric is beautifully hilarious.

I hope your Professor gave you a sympathetic laugh, and help, too.

Nikki said...

twenty years from now "My soup spilled in my backpack" will be the new "the dog ate my homework"

Hilary said...

Jen - She actually said I should get extra credit because I wrote about it!

Nikki - 20 years?? Girlfriend, let's start a revolution NOW. Who's with me? No one? Oh, ok. :(

Amy said...

i'm sure it wasn't too funny at the time, but i got a kick out of reading about your horrible tragedy! i'm glad your professor was a woman who was sympathetic!!

Laura said...

I think we've all been there. We all have our own chicken soup stories, not the ones that are necessarily good for the soul, but are nevertheless good anecdotes.