I found out today that I got a B+ in my class this semester. You know, the Chaucer class. I don't know why I'm surprised or upset; with the way I procrastinated on the paper that counted 40% of my grade, do I really have a right to be disappointed? No, but I am anyway.

And I love the process of self-reassurance that occurs upon the discovery of this type of news. I engaged myself in all manner of self-edifying shit talk, but it didn't really do me any good.
I say to myself, don't worry about it. If you got a B+ think of how bad those other morons in your class must have done!

"Why, Self," I say, "I think you're right. The whole lot of 'em must have barely slid by. After all, I was the smartest one in there and my writing far excels the other people in my class."

Like that lady, Josey. You know the one; there's one in every class. The one who thinks that all of her words are inspired by God and therefore must exit her lips for the education of the uninspired around her. I suspected there was something weird about this woman the first time I laid eyes on her; my suspicions were confimed before she was even through with her first sentence.

"Well, my herbalist said.........."

Whoa. You lost me at "herbalist."

I'm sorry, but we're the Lit. majors. Maybe you've got us confused with the weird-freaky-lady majors. They meet down the hall to the left and out the window of the sixth story. When you've hit the sidewalk you know you're in the right place.

And it only got worse from there.

Josey, it seems, is 57 years old. After putting aside all of her own desires to ensure the proper upbringing of her children (the spawn of Satan, I can imagine), she suddenly found herself divorced and alone at 50 years old. My first thought was to wonder why it took the poor man so long to realize he was married to a whack job, but that was not material to the story at this point. She decided that she would finish her bachelor's degree in English at a local community college and then she enrolled in the graduate program I am in. We found all of this out within the first five minutes of class.

Well, I managed to make it all semester without having to engage in a personal conversation with her. The last night of class I got onto the elevator, punched the button, and turned around to lean against the hand rail. I glanced down the hall and see her making a bee-line for the elevator, and I am holding down the "Close Doors" button with all my might and the damn doors just. will. not. close. She scoots in and says, "Thanks, dear one, for holding it for me. These elevators are dreadfully slow and it would have been next century before I would have caught the next one."

I think I was looking at her, but to be honest I don't remember. I do recall having the thought that I must control my facial expressions and not let her know that I think she must be Mork's long-lost sister.

"You know, I was up all night because my horse foaled."

Blank stare.

"I thought we were going to have to call the vet, but everything turned out just right. Thank Gawd, I had my special gloves. It really is a messy business you know."

Do I dare breathe? Maybe if I stand really still and don't breathe she will forget I'm here. Where are my invisible glasses, dammit?

"And, it's a good thing that my boyfriend had come home a few hours earlier." She turns and looks me dead in the eye. "He's a truck driver, you know, and years younger than me. It really is sinful," she says rolling her eyes with this sumptuous grin on her face. "So you know, I come in from this messy business and get in the shower....and well" (hand over mouth and a quick wink) "I'm sure you can guess the rest."

Am I dead? Is she really saying this? Is that a little bit of throw-up in the back of my throat?

By the time the doors opened, I didn't know if I could control my legs from running. My mother tried to teach me to be polite but I don't think she knew anyone like Josey. So, I non-chalantly turn out of the elevator and I hear her footsteps behind me.

No, God. Say this is not happening. Please tell me that the trucker seducer is not following me.
Oh no. Maybe she likes girl truckers too. Maybe she wants to see my headlights. Oh shit. Why don't I have MACE on my keychain? Ok, if she grabs me from behind I can elbow her with my left arm and whirl around and scratch her eyes out with the keys in my right hand, all the while screaming, "HELP! I'M BEING ATTACKED BY A HORSE WHISPERING, SWITCH HITTING, ENGLISH LIT MAJORING FREAK." I think that about describes it.

And just about the time I have the nerve to look over my shoulder (with my deadly keys poised and ready to attack) she turns down the hallway to the right and I turn left.

Whew.

I was breathing heavy and sweating. My pulse was racing. I pulled out my phone and called my husband. "Don't worry, honey. I'll be home in a little while. It was a close call but I escaped from the boogey woman."