The Theme Table
Me and my friend who lives a couple of doors away were having a rather interesting conversation at school the other day about old times.
We’ve know each other since pre-school (English version of kindergarten, but without nap time), so we’ve had quite a few good times.
I shall take you back to 1998. Me and T must have only been about three at the time, but I remember it as vividly as though it were yesterday.
We had themes, so when you came in, you had to bring an item relating to the allocated theme. At the end of one day, Mrs Thomas was talking about the next day’s theme, which was anything beginning with the letter ‘T’.
Now, I have no idea why, but Mrs Thomas then decided to be a comedian and add in a witty joke. It’s not like we even understood humour. We were barely old enough to talk, let alone understand humour. With an evil gleam in her eye, and a look towards me and T, she said, “Maybe we can put Tasha and T on the table!”
I was horrified.
I remember, as if in slow motion, looking over at T, the fear evident in both of our eyes.
When I got home that day, I was practically trembling.
Mum – Why aren’t you eating your lunch?
Me – B-Because M-M-Mrs Thomas s-said she was g-going to p-put me a-and T on the t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-TABLE! *Starts crying*
Mum - *Confusion*
I just left it there and sobbed into my billy-bear ham sandwich.
Mum eventually bribed me to stop crying by getting me some Barbies from my room and letting me play with them downstairs while she watched TV.
By the next day, I’d completely forgotten about Mrs Thomas and her evil scheme, so the morning was going great until my mum was helping me put on my jumper, and it all came flooding back to me. Mrs Thomas was an evil, evil lady.
I remember at that point, even though I knew it was too late, trying to pull a sicky.
I failed.
Me: *Overly-enthusiastic fake cough* I feel siiiiiiiiick.
Mum: You were fine just a second ago, Tasha.
Me: But Teddy just sneezed and it went all over me!
Mum: Don’t be silly. Put your shoes on.
Less than an hour later, we were walking past the windows towards the door. I tried to refuse to walk, but my mum was too strong.
One window.
Two windows.
Three windows.
We were at the door, and I was petrified.
“Hello, Tasha!” Mrs Thomas greeted me, the evil gleam still in her eyes. I hid behind mum and hugged her legs tightly, refusing to let go. “What did you bring today?”
I hesitantly pulled a plastic early-learning toy tractor from my backpack and held it out for her to see, my hands trembling.
“Fantastic!” she smiled, pointing through to the room containing the toys, the Theme Table and the other children.
I was very cautious for the rest of the day around the woman, but I made it home alive.
And to this day, I still hold a large amount of resentment towards Mrs Thomas.
