A Matter of Perspective

I walked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Flick saying. " We're going to be late !........We have to go !.....We're going to be laaaaate !",

I looked around and "The Boy" was playing with the radio, "The Therapist" was drawing something, and I had no idea where "Hot Gril" was.

" We're going to be late.", she said to me, " and the kids wont listen to me !"

" What did you tell them to do "?, I asked sincerely.

" You just HEARD me!", she said getting increasinly frustrated.

" I heard you say that you were going to be late and that you had to go.", I said, " I didn't hear you tell THEM to DO anything."

Sarcastic and pissed, with a theatrical fliar she said, " Ohhhhhh pardon me. CHILDREN ! Puh-leeeeze go outside and get into the van right nooooowww." and sort of rolled her eyes.

With that, "The Boy" walked over put on his coat, "The Therapist" put down her pencil and "Hot Gril" came walking out of the bathroom. They all walked outside and got into the van.

Mrs. Flick looked at me half shocked ...ok 1/3rd shocked. The rest of what was left looked like she was going to kill me. Then she just laughed, shook her head, and walked out the door.