Oh, hey.

So, I've been kind of a [whistle sound] all semester. That's right. I've been so awful that you have to use words you don't normally like to use because they're kind of demeaning to women, but no other word has enough taboo associated with saying it publicly to actually convey the sheer frustration and eye-twitchery which I contribute to your day.

Anyway, I was saying how I've been a [redacted] all semester. Like whoa. I've turned in assignments late. I've been super combative. I've addressed emails to, "Mrs." and to "Miss," but never to, "Dr." or even "Doc," despite your 100% success rate at signing emails with Dr. F, or, when you were super cranky, Dr. FluterDale, Ph.D.

I've made menacing references to calling your supervisor, I've insulted the assignments, and I've generally flounced any time I was asked to do something even remotely academic. I've probably left you a scathing, insult-laden evaluation, describing exactly how stupid your class is because it's too much work, when classes for my major are so much less work, and how can I be asked to do work when it's not for my major. (Although, let's be honest - I'm not doing work for my major! I'm doing the things that you've only seen in movies where college students are played by 25 year-olds. They involve more fun than you've experienced in the whole of your life, because I only worry about grades at the end of the semester.)

Speaking of which, I've been a [inappropriate expletives] all semester, and I never call you by the right name. I've actually never done anything even remotely pleasant, decent, or slightly friendly all semester ... but ... I wanted to write this email, just now, to Mrs. Fluter, and ask ... what am I doing for extra credit?

You know. Because.

In Which I Sabotage All Hopes of Future Employment to Vent