Saturday night, Mel and her girlfriends sat around a table at their favorite restaurant, regaling each other with tales of kindergarten madness and giggling over drinks and breadsticks.
“You're putting us on,” Mel laughed. “There's no way!”
“Yep,” Cindy replied, chortling. “He asked for ice cream. I couldn't believe it. Only in kindergarten can a kid throw up all over the floor, his classmates and himself and then ask for dessert.”
Julie, the youngest teacher present by many years, looked slightly ill, but the other three had seen enough vomit not to be worried about it anymore.
“What do you do if they barf like that?” the first-year teacher demanded.
“Call the janitor,” Mel replied, “and then take the kids to the gym. Otherwise, they'll all stare.”
“If the kid's messy,” Cindy added,
