My snobby son-in-law trashed my handmade quilt and called me a “broke lunch lady”…

in room 214 asked me for an extra dash of cinnamon on her oatmeal, and Mr. Patterson in 118 told me the exact same meandering joke about a priest and a fisherman that he told me every single Tuesday. I laughed loudly, as if it were the very first time I had heard it.

Meanwhile, my cell phone sat securely in my metal locker in the staff room, buzzing continue reading …