Brooms weren’t meant to be made of grass, she thought as she struggled to carry one down a crowded street, sections coming loose onto the ground. Or maybe grass wasn’t meant to be forced into a broom. She tried to avoid the confused brown eyes staring back at her - or were they?
Why did I decide to do this during rush hour?
A fat older woman quickly stepped out from a streetside shop, nearly skewering herself with the tip of the broom.
“Oh, kohtawt, ka!”
She ashamedly apologized, but the fat woman in danger just smiled and laughed at the spectacle of a farang with a broom in one hand and dinner in the other.
She kept her head up after that, hoping to avoid any further collisions and skittered past the school to her apartment, almost making it without seeing any of her students.
“Teacher! Why you have a ………” the boy made sweeping motions, unable to find the correct word.
Why did she have a broom? How about why were farangs questioned on everything normal that they do like cleaning their house?
“So that you can clean my house when you are a bad student!”
He scampered away with wide eyes.
She entered the stuffy apartment, turned on all the fans and sat down with a heavy sigh on her bed. It was always the little things that got to her. Moving to another country? Check. Learning bits of a new language? Check. Teaching rambunctious sugared up children? Check. Walking down the street holding basic household items? Not checked.
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