I think by now you all know about my intense dislike for my psychology teacher. Everyone in the class is burnt out by her. She won’t admit that she doesn’t know the answer to a question we ask her that was on a quiz, she’s yelled at us more than once, and she has a fake smile constantly plastered on her face that we know means “I’m psychoanalyzing all of you.” I love the class itself and I’ve learned a lot, but I’m ready for it to be over.
Our psych final is next Friday at 7:30am (why.) and I’ve been looking back through my notes to study. I came across a short story I wrote back in October. The professor showed us a picture and we had to write a story about it. This is the gem I wrote:
“I’m so handsome,” said George.
“Oh darling, you are. The way your creepy lazy eye constantly stares off into the distance makes me fall in love with you even more.” Samantha sighed.
One of George’s eyes always looked at Samantha.
“Run away with me, darling,” he said.
Samantha looked puzzled. “But we’re already married, fool. #LOLZ.”
George looked sad. He may be a hottie with a body, but he was stupid as all get out.
I didn’t realize that these stories had to be serious because after we wrote them we had to pass them around. The professor whom we all fondly refer to as Karen even though she’s demanded we call her Professor [insert last name that I never use and sometimes forget] had some people read theirs out loud. Whoops. Luckily everyone approved of my story so my snarky remarks didn’t get me in trouble this time. But if you hear shouts of pure joy at 9:20 tomorrow morning it’s all the nursing student in the class celebrating that all our classes are finally over. On to finals and then home for a month.