Forgetron. Erase This Memory.

I remember this day, vaguely but with a familiarity of the emotions that causes my stomach to turn and my eyes to tear up.

I was in 1st Standard. Mrs. Robinson, with her Joker-from-Batman lips all moulin rouge-ed up, was checking our copies (notebooks). I was standing in line. Ms. Poo was standing in front of me in line.

It was just the two of us in line.

And then Mrs. Robinson curled those lips in the nastiest grimace and curled up her nose like a pug. I felt a strange wetness on my cavas-shoe-ed foot.  Strange. Very Strange.

The smell of shit pervaded our senses. 

Ms. Poo Shat on my Shoe.

Can you believe this?

I'd repressed this memory under a ton of bricks and then some. I told Ms. Rosa (a gummy bear that walks and talks like a Laid-A) about this incident when I was in 10th Standard. I told her I was unsure of the veracity of the story -- maybe it was just a nightmare, maybe it was a lie I'd made up [it sounded like a lie I would make up].

Ms. Rosa asked Ms. Poo if this was true. 

Ms. Poo blushed.

She blushed.

Blushed.

The Blush on Ms. Poo's face is evidence enough for me. 

I wonder how this story sounds, coming from Ms. Poo. A whole lot more amusing I'm sure.

She does not (neither do you.) understand the level of shitty that is accomplished in washing somebody else's shit off your shoe. Off your Canvas Shoes.

She had the audacity to say "I didn't do it. She must have."

Makes my mind crack and my butt boggle.

I missed recess and games, standing in the sun, waiting for my shoe to dry.

Image Courtesy: Me and the World without Forgetron.