Typical Day for a 3L
Through the ficus tree I see a fellow student.
I heard he’s married to an old chick,
an attorney already with lots of money.
She supports his blond haired ass while
he goes to school to be one of her.
He always has a fucking smile on his face.
Not the shit eating grin my mom used to accuse my brother of,
not the I’m shy and an ass kisser and I’m trying to get people to like me,
not the I just got laid or I just had a big ol’ chocolate sundae smile.
No, the “I’m genuinely happy” smile that you don’t see very often.
I think I hate him.
I ask him where we are in the text.
I use a big smile too.
The, “I’m a chick in a low cut blouse and you’re married to someone twice my age whose tits probably sag much lower than mine and if I smile bigger you might be inclined to give me your notes because unlike your perfect ass, I miss class sometimes because unlike your old wife, my kids aren’t all grown and I missed last class because my daughter sprained her ankle and she’s only 9 and I hurt for her and was sick of her yelling at me to get her damn crutches and I was so exhausted I didn’t come to class last week so I am lost and the bitch professor will call on me tonight and I won’t be able to smile but instead I’ll stutter and be lost so please help a girl out, will ya.”
He showed me where we left off, and he smelled like old spice
maybe his old wife wants him to at least smell old
and I can still see him through the fake ficus in the law library
and I can only see parts of him
but I sure see that damn smile and I wonder if he can see my mouth
turned slightly downward, a frown as I read this fucking text book
about corporate law and take overs and the shit that his wife probably
coaches him on since she makes lots of money doing it and when I get out
I’ll be a pathetic public defender because my daughter sprained her ankle and my son had a phase last semester where all he did was throw up 3 times a week for attention because his dad moved away and I missed so much class that
I am in the 51 percentile, which is not good enough for the corporate firms that pay lots of money, the kind of money that would pay for a good college for my vomiting son and gimp foot daughter.
I heard he’s married to an old chick,
an attorney already with lots of money.
She supports his blond haired ass while
he goes to school to be one of her.
He always has a fucking smile on his face.
Not the shit eating grin my mom used to accuse my brother of,
not the I’m shy and an ass kisser and I’m trying to get people to like me,
not the I just got laid or I just had a big ol’ chocolate sundae smile.
No, the “I’m genuinely happy” smile that you don’t see very often.
I think I hate him.
I ask him where we are in the text.
I use a big smile too.
The, “I’m a chick in a low cut blouse and you’re married to someone twice my age whose tits probably sag much lower than mine and if I smile bigger you might be inclined to give me your notes because unlike your perfect ass, I miss class sometimes because unlike your old wife, my kids aren’t all grown and I missed last class because my daughter sprained her ankle and she’s only 9 and I hurt for her and was sick of her yelling at me to get her damn crutches and I was so exhausted I didn’t come to class last week so I am lost and the bitch professor will call on me tonight and I won’t be able to smile but instead I’ll stutter and be lost so please help a girl out, will ya.”
He showed me where we left off, and he smelled like old spice
maybe his old wife wants him to at least smell old
and I can still see him through the fake ficus in the law library
and I can only see parts of him
but I sure see that damn smile and I wonder if he can see my mouth
turned slightly downward, a frown as I read this fucking text book
about corporate law and take overs and the shit that his wife probably
coaches him on since she makes lots of money doing it and when I get out
I’ll be a pathetic public defender because my daughter sprained her ankle and my son had a phase last semester where all he did was throw up 3 times a week for attention because his dad moved away and I missed so much class that
I am in the 51 percentile, which is not good enough for the corporate firms that pay lots of money, the kind of money that would pay for a good college for my vomiting son and gimp foot daughter.
posted by Letajo at 12:02 PM
3 Comments:
But your sense of achievement when you make it, ( and you will, I can see you courage in your words), and the empathy you offer your clients, ( because you have 'been there', and can feel their hurt), will be so much better than him just punching in his time card!
Go girl!
Thanks for your comments, Fraud. Glad to know someone is reading this crap. Ha
And im now reading it. Better then crap, i must say!
Joe
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