A long, long, time ago, school always started on the day after Labor Day.
And it still does, in some places. But the Grinches who run the schools around here decided to get the teachers and kids into their classrooms in August, when it’s still good and hot and a hurricane might be coming.
My sister-in-law Gloriosa, who lives Uptown, has three kids and a flock of chickens. (Chicken-raising is suddenly a big thing with her and her friends.)
Her two oldest kids go to Catholic school and wear uniforms, and she bought them new ones for the year. Now, she believes you always got to wash new clothes before you wear them in case they carry some deadly bugs from the factory.
So the day before school starts, she throws them in a nice, hot wash. Unfortunately, somebody had thrown a couple of red napkins in the machine already.
So when she takes them out the next morning, the uniforms are pink. It’s bad enough for her little girl, Muses, but her son, Rex, absolutely refuses to go school in pink anything.
So she leaves them home and rushes out to the uniform store, but it don’t open until 10. She got to wait and tap her foot, and even worse, she realizes she forgot her phone at home.
This phone is ringing at home right at that moment and Rex answers it. It’s the school, reporting that he and his sister ain’t there. Rex thinks fast. He certainly can’t admit his uniform is pink.
“Oh, we just have a little touch of tuberculosis,” he says. “Tuberculosis?!” the secretary repeats. “Yep. The doctor says we’ll be fine by tomorrow. Be in school then,” he says.
Now, Gloriosa carpools with her friend Awleen, who also has three kids. The next day, Awleen picks them up before school. Gloriosa will take them all home afterwards.
Now comes the chicken part. Gloriosa has noticed one of her hens, Dolly Parton, is acting sick. Don’t ask me how a hen acts when she feels sick, but Gloriosa is a chicken expert now, and she puts Dolly Parton in this big basket she uses for chicken-carrying and takes her to the vet. He shoves a pill down her beak and says she should be fine.
So Gloriosa puts Dolly Parton in the back part of her SUV station wagon and drives straight to school for the kids. They start to pile in and right away they all get excited because this chicken is making whatever sound hens make when they lay an egg. And then when she finally does lay the egg, Gloriosa stops the car, goes around back, takes the egg — and now what? She can’t think of any way to keep this egg safe. Finally, she just puts it in her purse.
Then she drops off Awleen’s kids and drives home and her own kids jump out. And then she realizes there is still a little boy in the car.
“My name’s Will. I never seen a chicken lay an egg before,” he says. “Will you bring me back to school now? My mom might be worried.”
Worried? Really? She had called the police. Somebody had told her that they saw Will ride off in somebody’s car. And the school secretary helpfully asked if that car belonged to the family that all had tuberculosis yesterday.
When Gloriosa got there, she has to tell two policemen that everybody’s clothes had been pink, and nobody had tuberculosis.
They asked her to show her driver’s license and when she reached in her purse for the license, she pulled out the egg. Of course.
The police finally left, mumbling, and so did Will and his mama, but not before Gloriosa gave Will the egg, on the condition he tell nobody that Rex’s uniform was ever pink. She watches him and his mother walk off. He gives his egg to his mother, who frowns, and finally puts it in her purse.
“Maybe it will break all over her lipstick and wallet,” Gloriosa mutters.
So she goes home, eggless.
And that was the first day. It’s going to be a long year.
