Curse of the Snot-Nosed Brat: A Fable

Warning:  This entry contains frightening elements that are not for the faint of heart! 

This week, I've been visiting my little sister's third grade classroom to help with holiday crafts.  I love crafts and I love my sister, but I'm not a huge fan of kids.  It's not like I hate them and want to lock them away from the sun in some sort of Bradbury-like scenario, but I find them to be a bit loud.  And obnoxious.  And stupid since they don't get my jokes.  Nevertheless, I was excited to volunteer because that's the kind of sweet generous person that I am.

The first time I came in to volunteer, Miss Miller introduced me to the class as her sister, Miss Jamie.  I would be walking around the room to answer questions while the students worked on their projects.  Shortly after I began my patrol, a little boy called me over to his desk.  What followed is a perfect example of why I don't like children:

Boy: Are you Miss Miller's sister?

Me:  Yes, I am.

Boy:  Really?  Because when I saw you come in, I thought you were somebody's mom.

Me:  Nope, I'm not a mom.  I'm Miss Miller's sister.

Boy:  Huh.  Because I really thought you were a mom.

Me:  Still not a mom.

I didn't punch him in his stupid face nor lecture him about being rude.  I am, however, seriously considering investing in some new jeans.  I just chalked it up to his stupidity and the inability of anyone under the age of ten to accurately determine the age of anyone over 18.  I tried to forget about it.

Before I went back to volunteer again, I decided to put a little effort into my appearance.  I put on a little bit of makeup, pulled back my hair to keep it from getting to windblown, and picked out a nice festive (but not tacky) sweater to wear.  During my preparations, I found shook me to the core.  A gray hair.  

I stood in shock before the mirror.  For most of my life, people have thought that I was younger than I actually am.  How come I am aging so suddenly and dramatically?  It must be the boy!  That snot-nosed little brat cursed me!  I hurried to pluck the tell-tale hair from my head hoping that it would reverse the cursing process.  Sadly, things only got worse.  As soon as the gray talisman was destroyed, I was struck with a strange illness.  Almost instantaneously, my voice became deep and gravelly, like a grandma who spent the last seventy years smoking.  My back and joints started aching so that I hobbled along slowly.  Little whippersnappers were passing me in the hallway!  More disturbing still, my normally sunny disposition began to cloud.  I was aggravated by the hustle and bustle of holiday festivities and irritated by the hassel of decorating and wrapping presents.  If I had a walker, I would have hit people with it and started screaming about the blue invasion just to enjoy the looks of fear and confusion.  

Unfortunately, things still look grim for me.  I feel old, and it is all that stupid little brat's fault!  So, dear readers, beware this Christmas season.  If you come across a little boy who seems unreasonably tactless, run the other way before he can steal your youth!  

And to those of you who think I'm overreacting, that I just spent some time around germy children and caught the flu.....I'll think of a clever retort after my nap.