Warning: Sheep May Attack If Provoked.

Why do people do it? Who, in their right mind, would take up a sharp stick and start vigorously poking a menopausal Sheep? There was a time when we could excuse the males of the species as we hadn't really clued them in to all the mysteries and wonders of being chicks. But I like to think we've made some strides in the education of the dudes and that they understand that we can be hostile at certain points. We have taken a lot of crap over the centuries. We bear the children. We wear the heels. We are a powder keg after the age of forty and any male who doesn't know this deserves what he gets.

So, I ask you: how is it that the teacher in whose class I am now stationed pretty much regularly in order that I might use my oh-so-powerful presence to quell the misbehavior of a certain student would chuckle evilly and say to the young man, "You don't know what a century is? Why don't you ask Ms. Sheep?"

I didn't kill him. Not then.

Later in the day, exhausted from eight billion meetings and two new students being added to my caseload in as many days, I was sitting in his reading class (drowsing, really...) as he read a passage to the children that included the phrase, "like a broken record." He then proceeded to explain that records were something that he and Ms. Sheep used to listen to waaaaaaaay back when.

I still didn't kill him. But I'm planning on punching him in the head later. He's currently on crutches. I can outrun him. Even in heels.

And I will get away with it. I am currently in the throes of yet another hormonal upheaval courtesy of the early onset of my menopausaly-ness. There is no middle-aged, female jury that will convict me.

In between meetings and being referred to as a haggard, old crone by my colleagues, I had a very busy day. I attended four meetings in between my classes and have quite a bit of paperwork that needs paperworking within a rather short time frame. I also work in a building that houses two different schools. Thus, I work two different schedules. I looked forward to a quiet evening at home with my cats and my imbalanced hormones.

But there was this noise. It was a high-pitched, keening sort of noise. I was already on edge from being all old and crusty so it cut through my senses like a knife through melting chocolate. And I can't have chocolate because I need to lose the holiday ham hips so this added to my overall sense of AARRGGHH!!!

I searched high and low for this noise. The more I listened to it the more it sounded like something right before it explodes in a fiery ball of death. I wondered if the still-unlit fluorescent bulb in my closet was reaching critical mass. I know that I certainly was by this time. I then questioned if the heater was doing the screeching. I turned it off, hoping against hope that this wasn't the case as the weather has made a change for the "seasonal" and we are below the freezing mark tonight. The noise continued and I was, at least, assured of warmth as I descended into madness.

Finally, after an hour of wandering around my tiny abode putting my ear to various objects around the house, I hit paydirt. The tinny wailing was coming from this:

My Ipod case

I got this for Christmas from Baby Brother Sheep. It holds my ancient Ipod mini and has the added benefit of speakers. Very handy. Except when the Ipod inexplicably gets turned on during the day when you are not there. I suspect that the Big, Fluffy Kitty and her Smaller, Less Fluffy Counterpart got a hankerin' for some tunes today while I was out earning the cash for their kibbles and catnip. They are not allowed to have wild parties while I am away and I thought that they were abiding by my reasonable rules of house and home.

Clearly this is not the case.

Does no one fear the middle-aged, hormonally challenged Sheep?

SA