“It’s 1:30 a.m.” This announcement is met with groans and shivers. “We have to get home,” the littlest one says to the others. My adult alarm starts to go off. Children… must… get… home… me. Adult. You. Children. Must help children.
The Nail in the Coffin is the shot that you clearly did not need. It ends your night and throws all hopes of frisky behavior with the opposite sex out the window. The Nail in the Coffin is the Cab Shot: the shot that makes you take a cab home, where under different circumstances you would be lucid enough to take the damn train.
Please stop. I’ve had enough of your raucous nonsense. Like for real, dudes, go back to earnestly swaying or self-consciously nodding your head. Or, better yet, just stand awkwardly while ogling girls. There is nothing worse than you jumping up and down like you’re at my eighth-grade birthday party at the trampoline gym…
My middle school was intent on giving us a thorough cultural education. While most of us were already learning an instrument after school, they added a music class to the curriculum. For this they hired Mr. Chan.