So I'm grading midterms, harried as usual.
Grading midterms is always an oppressive experience. Right up to that moment, I am always convinced the class is brilliant, that they have learned everything I have taught, that everything is going so well. Comes the exam, well.
There I am grading away, harried and grieved, yanking at my hair (which I have cut even shorter) while I mutter in exasperation ("How can that be a participial phrase? How? It's not even remotely a verbal!") when the kid comes to sit at the table with me.
The Kid: I really like your hair like that.
Me: Thanks. Me, too. It's very handy.
The Kid: I mean how it's gone grey like that -- right there in that one patch? Where you part it?
Me: Um. Okay?
The Kid: It makes you look like a Supervillain.
16 minutes ago