An Experience More Painful Than Watching The Whole Oscars Broadcast. Even the Credits.

   What strikes more fear into my heart than the anticipation of Armageddon? Obviously, the answer is the impending school year, which bears a striking resemblance to all the end-of-days movies Hollywood uses to scare people out of $12. I believe Earth was given the new school year as a sort of trial run for the Apocalypse. It is a time of preparation, of contemplation, and of suddenly remembering we are overdue for our dental checkups. Nobody is going to fill your teeth during Armageddon. They also will not do it after school hours, because those two appointment slots have already been filled by all the other procrastinators.
   
   Have we stockpiled enough food to eliminate the necessity of eating road kill/ cafeteria mystery meat? Have we consumed just enough of this toxic waste as to build up some immunity, so that we can survive if our pantry does run dry and it is the only available sustenance? Does everyone have plenty of clean socks? Armageddon is no excuse for dingy whites. However, the start of the school year may be. It's difficult to find time for laundry with all that screaming, rioting, and looting. (I guess Armageddon might involve some of that as well, but I am confident it will pale in comparison.)
 
   I have decided that next year, I will give all of my back-to-school business to the store that longest refrains from reminding me that it is time to go back to school. I panic every July when I walk into my local grocery store and see that my favorite aisles, the seasonal ones that usually offer candy and other sorts of pre-packaged happiness, are being used for evil purposes. It is like a graveyard of my holiday dreams. (Remember when the Easter candy and I ran up and down these rows looking for baskets? It seems like yesterday...) Treats have been replaced by every kind of notebook, writing utensil, and pencil case you could see in your worst nightmares. (Except, of course, for the kind your child's teacher requires. They will never contain that kind.)
 
   This year may finally be my own end-of-days. My youngest is starting  kindergarten. If the abundance of anxiety, and lack of composure, I have demonstrated when my older ones began is any indication (the only crying mother, as far as I could see through my tears) I will be stealing the box of tissues intended for the teacher's supply cabinet. It's fine. They weren't her required kind anyway.