No, It's Not Just a Desk

This is my nemesis.

Yeah, I know it looks like a regular ol' school desk, right? (And I ought to know; after all, I'm surrounded by thirty-two of them Monday through Friday.) Perfectly harmless, right?

Not.

At least not if it's your only option for seating, and you're a big ol' gal like your's truly. (There's a reason why this blog only boasts a headshot of the Texas Preacher Woman. Big hair is allowed down here in these parts -- heck, it's even encouraged. Big . . . well, everything else, not so much.)

I spent three-plus hours one evening last week working my way through a number of classrooms at a local high school so that I could hear four different textbook publishers explain why their new lit books were the best. And each time I entered a room, my heart threatened to blow a gasket on me (or valve, I guess) until I spotted an empty classroom chair that I could pull up to the side of of these said-school desks because . . . here it is . . . I can't fit into one of these desks. There. I've said it out loud and in print.

And how am I celebrating MLK Day? By sitting through workshops all day right back at that same high school, in those same rooms, with those same darn desks!

Something must be done, sistahs. And, alas, I don't think it will involve the school district's getting new desks.

To be continued . . .