Stupidity on the Sidewalk

I thought I’d bid a firm farewell to Miss Margot and The Stepford Wives in my last entry; but it wasn’t yet to be, thanks to some of my astute readers.

First of all, how did you folks find me? I’ve mentioned this blog to just a handful of people I know.  The ones I’m one hundred percent certain will never be even remotely featured here. And only a tiny fraction of my relatives are in on it, since the majority prefer to subscribe to the minimalist school of thought . That comes to a total of seven people. Of the seven, only half visit regularly as the rest have advised me they don’t do blogs. (Yes, that’s 3.5 known visitors). So who are the rest of you intelligent, charming, authentic folks? I very much appreciate your taking the time to read and certainly hope you enjoy your visits here.

Now back to my capable readers who asked, how exactly did I finally find the ideal preschool, post The Stepford Wives ordeal? Miss Margot referred me, of course. During our discussion about bathroom cleanliness (before she feasted her eyes on my exotic car), she said, threateningly, “Why don’t  you go down the street to the cooperative preschool? The parents there are in charge of cleaning the bathrooms.”

I thought that was sheer genius. How better to insure proper sanitation of facilities used by our tots than when the parents themselves are held responsible? See what I mean about stupidity sometimes having a positive impact when you least expect it?

One last note about Miss Margot before my final farewell: Three years later, my son attended kindergarten directly across the street from Miss Margot’s School for Children of Stepford Wives (SCSW). After a field trip, I accompanied my child’s class on a trek back to his school’s campus. We walked on the sidewalk in front of the SCSW.

At a distance, I spotted a cloaked figure peering out of the blooming hydrangea bushes in front of Miss Margot’s office. As I got closer, I realized it was none other than Miss Margot herself.

Across the street, at my son’s campus, an ambulance with flashing lights was parked. So intent was Miss Margot on witnessing this spectacle that she failed to notice the approaching kindergartners until they blocked her view. Not one to miss a beat, she quickly feigned interest in pruning dead flowers between her thumb and forefinger, eyeing the ambulance all the while.

The kindergarten class continued marching toward school; I brought up the rear. I later learned that the paramedics were assisting a fourth grader who’d sprained his ankle during a spirited soccer match. 

When the injured boy was carried out on a stretcher, Miss Margot  practically drooled puddles in fascination. Again, another instance of the unrelenting stranglehold curiosity has on stupers (short once again, for those downright stupid persons).

As I came upon Miss M., I slowed down to give her a long look. I wondered if I could possibly embarrass her into putting away her gawking. An ambulance loading an injured child is not a spectator sport.

For a few short moments, Miss Margot broke her fixed gaze and regarded me. I saw the wheels slowly turning in her head; a dim memory filled her mind. But since I wasn’t standing next to a luxury automobile, Miss M. couldn’t place me. She resumed gawking.

I crossed the street. Just before entering the campus, I took one last look at Miss Margot. She stood, statuelike, one shoe on the edge of the sidewalk, the other hovered in mid-air; her neck stretched out, Inspector Gadget style. She pined for a closer view of the mishap. Her pointed chin rested on the back of one hand; the other arm outstretched before her. I’m not quite sure how she maintained balance in that position, but she managed. Was this some sort of street yoga Miss Margot was engaged in? No, dear readers. It was stupidity. Instead of gawking, she should have been supervising her school.

It is best to draw a wide berth around stupidity of this sort, which is exactly what I did. And always bring along your sense of humor.

Next time: Turn Signal Deficit Disorder.

Keep thinking!

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

5 Responses to “Stupidity on the Sidewalk”

  1. Casey says:

    I really liked your Stepford Wives trilogy! Very funny! I hope I never, ever meet one!

  2. Leslie says:

    I think checking out the bathroom of your kid’s school is a great idea. It’s a good way to tell how the school is run. I never thought of that before. But I’m gonna try it! Thanks!

  3. Julianne says:

    I think you need to write a piece on the Miss Margot’s of the driving world, the ones who cause hours of traffic jams to gawk at an overturned vehicle or any type of flashing lights. They are a classic example of stupers.

    I love that Miss Margot’s sarcasm led you to your son’s school.

  4. Keli says:

    I think that’s a brilliant idea, Julianne! As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I write about in the Vehicular Stupidity chapter of my book.
    Thanks for reading!
    Keli

  5. Tammy says:

    I’m going to miss Miss Margot. She sounds like quite a character!

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