I see you sent me your warm and comforting e-mail at 2am. I suppose your e-mail took hours and several shots of Jack Daniels to compose to help you think of exactly the right words you needed. I know, I am a terrible teacher because I said your son needed a note for being out to go to Star Trek Conventions...every other Friday, and possibly Monday.
But here's what makes it okay: I only have to deal with you for less than 9 months this year. You have to live with yourself for the rest of your life. I think I win, in this case.
Thanks,
Mrs. X
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