Mustache Business

We're getting ready to start the day yesterday and all the kids are sitting in the cafeteria. I'm on my way to the front of the group when one of my third grade girls runs up to me, tears in her eyes, a look of utter dismay on her face.

She says "my sister said I'm not allowed in the fort anymore because they say I broke someone's stick and I DIDN'T even do it!"

The 5th graders have a small stick fort in the woods and on Tuesday this girl had been allowed in due to her sister being in 5th grade.

I try to comfort her "well, okay, I know what you're talking about. That happened a while ago and we can just talk about it with everybody because not everyone has been here on the same day."

I'm really at a loss for what to say. The girl looks like her world has been shattered. Her sister approaches and does her best impression of a condescending adult to try to make her accept what has happened. It doesn't help. I chase the sister away.

I say "everything is fine. You're not in trouble. We'll figure this out."

And then, sliding into the scene like a character from a monty python sketch is another third grade girl who I call Zinky. Zinky has no idea what's going on but is sporting a bright green mustache, eyes half-closed, and says in her best high-society voice "hmmmmmm, mustache business." And strokes the ends of her mustache.

You're a treasure, Zinky.