After missing almost all of last week with her share of the family plague, Kira was excited to go back to school today. She loves school: that's why she goes even though she's already gotten to wear the fancy graduation hat most of us spend years working towards.
What Kira does not love, however, are mornings. My wife says that's because she's my daughter. I have no idea what she's talking about.
In any case, this morning, as is the case on most of the days when my wife works early and leaves me solely responsible for getting Kira to school, we were late.
Can I just say I have a persistent and growing fear of being told that I've earned a long sentence in parental detention for fostering the habit of tardiness? I can see it now--I bring Kira to school, she is handed a hall pass while I am whisked away by men in suits and dark glasses who put me into a cell where I'm forced to stare at a clock and mildly electrocuted for an hour or so whenever it passes 8:55 so that, when I'm allowed to go home again, the very thought of being late just makes me want to cry.
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