What a Game

I stand tall in my red patent-leather stilettos to balance the conforming parts of our thematic red-white-and blue for our faculty meeting-day attire. This would be fine, had I not also worn a skirt with an unknowingly high slit.  

It didn't used to be so high, but age, like waist lines, shortens things in unexpected ways.

But there will be no more subtle attempts at fitting in while remaining true to myself.  This winter, I was let go.  Budget cut-backs like battle-axes 

Did I ever fit in?  I had three students who didn't want to learn how to write; they only wanted a passing grade for playing school well.  They didn't even take advantage of writing persuasively which surprised me; after all, they convinced even themselves that they weren't responsible for work they didn't do and shouldn't be "punished" accordingly.  They have no idea that enabling of that sort will not go far in their college-bound ventures.  

Ah, entitlement; what a game.

I don't think its possible for me to conform on any level, not even when I try.