The Chronicles of Goat Cheese Woman

When the old French teacher at my building left, I felt a huge sigh of relief coming. Then, I had the pleasure of meeting the new one. The new French teacher won't tell me how to do my job, like the last one, but she made me sick -- two weeks worth of sick -- and I'm holding that grudge as long as I can.

What IS IT about French teachers?

So begins the Chronicle:

Steph and I went to the school's Christmas party about two weeks ago. We were sitting with friends and talking when the French Teacher came up with a Ziploc bag of crackers and smushy cheese. Not just any cheese, however, but goat cheese. She said something about not being able to consume normal dairy. And what were we eating? Steph's Banana Split Cake that's won over the hearts of millions...made purely of dairy.

French Teacher talked our ears off -- the type of talking that insisted she butt into the conversation. We had no choice but to listen.

Later that night, Steph asked "Who was Goat Cheese Woman?"

Who, indeed.

The weekend past, and I had a meeting at the administration building that following Monday. There are drinks and snacks for the these bi-monthly meetings. I had a Coke, but I opened my own bag of animal crackers leftover from my lunch. Goat Cheese Woman sat down all "harumpf" and grumpy about missing a drama club meeting and then I saw, out of the corner of my eye, an arm swoop down and grab an animal cracker.

Now, I'm a friendly person and if she would've asked, I would've taken my bag and sprinkled many crackers into her open palm.

But alas, she had to stick her hand into my bag. Something I do not let people do. She made some coy comment about "stealing an animal cracker," and I took my elbow, reared it back and smashed her face in.

Her bloody nose started spewing out clots, as her brain started to hemorrhage through the opening I created from bashing her face in.

After I shook those visions from my head, I moved the animal cracker bag quite dramatically saying, "you can't do that you -- Goat Cheese Woman!"

Later during the meeting, we switched tables and groups. I left my animal cracker bag open, and as she was walking around, she leaned over and whispered to me, "I'm practicing constraint."

So was I.

A couple days later, as I was getting a Coke from the teacher's lounge, she was in there finishing lunch. She called my name (which made my heart drop), and she asked if I'd been sick.


"Well, I've been home throwing up for the past 36 hours," she said. "It must've been punishment for stealing that one animal cracker."

She went on about being sick and how she stole an animal cracker, and she was afraid that I became sick since she stuck her virus-crawling hand into my bag. Plus, she tried to make me feel bad, as if I cast a pox on her soul for stealing one animal cracker.

I'm not much for magic spells. Just melee, thank you.

And lo and behold, I have been sick, all because she stole that one animal cracker. She must've gone to the bathroom, mourned her drama club meeting, and didn't wash her urine-stained hands.

And then. She stole. An animal cracker.

The disease she spread started out as a some ear-throat-tongue-soreness that remained solely on my left side. Then, I spiked a fever days later, started taking cold medicine that made me feel awful, fell asleep at 8 p.m. or earlier a few evenings, was light-headed, sore, and congested. Then it all finally lapsed into a normal, snotty cold.

And I still have it.

All because of Goat Cheese Woman.