As you learned in my last post, my last class of the day has only ten students.  We’re an elite* team designed to produce projects to enter a competition called National History Day, or NHD.  We traditionally work hard all class period, dissecting paragraphs for deeper observation and scanning articles in hopes of a primary source.  On Fridays, however, we kick back, put up our feet, and relax.  We swap stories, consume delectable food and drinks, and attempt to cajole our classmates into adopting a cat (the latter being unique to me, and let me tell you, it isn’t working).

On Friday, the thirteenth of November, as unlucky as it may seem, I finally managed to pull off a class tea party.  Everyone was responsible for their own mug, but my teacher and I provided the refreshments.  I baked a pumpkin pie and I can safely say it was delicious.  Let’s ignore the fact I left the tea cupboard a mess and my poor sister to do the dishes.

For the sake of my classmates, I will use their initials only.  They are, at the very least, an entertaining bunch.  Sadly, BC, NR, and my good friend, MO, were absent for the party day.

The tea party went better than expected, but I cannot say it went off without a hitch.

First off, MC forgot his mug and therefore had to drink his tea from a Styrofoam Starbucks coffee cup.  He complained incessantly until he saw the pumpkin pie.

“Why didn’t anyone bring me a mug - OH MY GOSH!  PIE!”

“That’s because you forgot to bring one, stupid.”  SW rolled her eyes.  SW’s tea had, by the way, been steeping for at least ten minutes already.  She would later complain that the tea was too strong and then nearly swallow her teabag because she never removed it from her mug.

“Now do you want to adopt a cat?” I asked.

Mrs. Maines, my teacher, and I were both droning on about our pets with great enthusiasm.  We were also monitoring the ongoing chaos, so only half listening to each other.

“So then my cat licks my face and it really hurts because her tongue is just like an exfoliant!” I said, gesturing wildly.

We were watching CL spar with MC using a pencil and a paper fish.  The only thing MC had to his name was a Styrofoam cup, which is nothing compared to the wrath of a cardstock fish.  Mrs. Maines said something about her puppy trying to eat someone else’s Mexican food at the park, but paper fish assault is quite fascinating.

SW was telling CD about what she was going to do over the weekend.  CD had gotten mentally lost somewhere between the mall, the movies, and the sleepover.

While this long and monotonous lecture, I mean, pleasant conversation, went on, CL, infamous for licking popcorn bags, was now sucking on her teabag.  If this is also one of your habits, be prepared for people to laugh.  A lot.  Or possibly make gagging noises.

“That’s…disgusting.”  MC held out his plate to me for a third piece of pie.  I hit him on the head with the blunt side of the pie cutter.

Sploosh!  SO’s Cinnamon Stick Tea spilled all over the table, onto the carpet, and all over her hoodie.

“Ew.”  SO tried to pull off her hoodie and got her head stuck.  CD - who had refused to try the tea, but gorged on pie - and I spent several minutes trying to get the hoodie off poor SO’s head.  We dragged her halfway around the room and pulled her hair several times before we wrenched the hoodie off and collapsed on top of each other giggling.**

These are only some of the ridiculous things that happened, but let’s skip to the end when CL and MC were playing tug-of-war with the pie tin for the last piece of pie.

Hoping to distract the two, I thought of something to say, “Does anyone want to adopt a cat?  I know of some really good ones who need a home!”  I had, after all, only asked seven times today.

Everyone turned and threw whatever they were holding at me.  Numerous teabags, a book, and a cardstock paper fish missed.  Only one object didn’t miss.

And, for the record, Styrofoam coffee cups do hurt.

*elite
1. a. A group or class of persons or a member of such a group or class, enjoying superior intellect, social, or economic status
b. The best or most skilled members of a group
2. A size of type on a type writer, equal to 12 characters per linear inch

** It’s about here you decide I must have been referring to the second definition.

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