In which I trust too much, too soon

I have a habit of trusting. Trusting directions, trusting signs, trusting people. Over the years this has usually been a good habit, albeit one that has led to several bad haircuts (a spiral perm would look great on you!), a wild goose chase for the San Jacinto Monument near Houston (slough? what slough?), and a couple of spectacularly painful breakups.

This time it was not my hair, thank goodness, but something nearly as important to my current psyche: my camera cord. The umbilicus that transcends time and space to pour my photos into my hard drive.

And whom, you ask, did I trust? (Who? whom? You'd think I'd know that one but it's still frickin painful for me.)

My students.

Don't get me wrong--I make a business and a policy of trusting the fifteen-to-eighteen-year-olds with whom I spend my days. (I KNOW for a fact whom is correct in THAT sentence.) I don't think I could teach high school if I couldn't trust them. I just make very sure that they know the natural consequences that will arise should my trust prove to have been invested poorly. I'm sort of the mortgage broker of the trust world.

I'm just meeting this current set of students, most of whom (there it is again!) I have not had in class due to my Year Of The Bambinos. And they borrowed my camera cord. And it did not return. Alas. Note to self: trust teenagers, but always double-check the camera case.

So no photos until I can get/find a replacement--which is probably a good thing considering that MS3 seems to have stalled even though I swear I'm doing a good 10 rows a day...and Baby E's sweater is a back and a couple of hems, and everything else is only in my head...