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“Well, I wish I was more confident.”
Again hoping for a change, you get nothing. Knowing the shard is junk, you toss it in the trash; you have a lesson to teach.
Making sure your sensual black dress is tidy, your makeup is pristine, and your bun is neat, you strut into your classroom with your insanely high heels announcing your presence. Ruler in hand, you look at your naive students sternly.
“Class, today we learn about the War of 1812,” you say in your thick British accent. “No talking until the end of my lecture.”