fleeing uphill

My freshman year in college, I went to the male a cappella group's concert. In addition to the standard-issue egomania, they had a number of stunningly talented performers, and at one point, after some crude jokes from the rest of the group, one of the guys, in his most beautiful, liquid African-American baritone, said

"You boys are like school on a Sunday: no class."

Marcela is sick, and technically I didn't have to come in, but I figured I'd step up and do my job, but turns out the kids expect class to be canceled if she's not there. There's also a classroom-decorating competition today, as part of next week's Independence Day bonanza (more on that later), so 1-C wanted to stay in their room and decorate. If they don't want to have class, there's no way 1-H and 1-G will be interested. They all love me, but not so much that they'll have class when they don't have to.

(UPDATE: To take some responsibility, Marco asked if we were having class, and I could have just said "Yes" instead of asking if they wanted to. Apparently, I love them, but I also don't want to have class if we don't have to. Also, I didn't even try with 1-H, after Paul from 1-G saw me in the hall and said "The Miss is sick, so we're all going home early instead of having class with you.")

Rather than try and push the river, I went to the bank and picked up my stipend, and then I walked up Cerro Alegre to El Desayunador (which is literally something like "The Breakfast Place"), where I am happily parked with espresso and unfiltered Internet. I'll probably show up to school around classtime, just in case. Maybe.

Including the teacher stoppage tomorrow, that will be 6 classes canceled this week, out of 12.