Mailmom goes to pre-school

In the fall of 2001, my son Jonah was just starting pre-school.
It was a tiny classroom, about the size of a large living room.
There were five other children in his class.
The teacher's name was Muzzie .
Muzzie was, and still is, the kindest, most gentle teacher on the planet.
She asked me to come in and talk to the kids about being a mail carrier.
I was more than happy to do so and began preparing for the gig.

When the big day came, I started off by reading them a story called My Mother the Mail Carrier.
They seemed to like that well enough, but I could tell they were beginning to get a bit restless.
I realized that I better get them physically involved
or I would probably lose their interest. After all,they were four year-olds and could only sit still for so long.

I put my mailbag on my shoulder and started telling them about how to prevent dog bites.
Many of the children had dogs of their own and seemed to be enjoying the topic.
I had brought along a hand puppet of a nasty looking Doberman with it's teeth poised in the ready-to-chop-on-some one's-leg position.
They took turns trying to attack me with the puppet. I showed them different techniques for fending off old Fido ...(feeding him the bag, feeding him the mail etc.). Things were going pretty well. I had every one's rapt attention.
It was time for the grand finale!
"Sit down kids. Now I'm going to show you how to stop a dog from attacking if nothing else works!"
"This stuff is called pepper spray. If used properly, it will stop a dog right in its tracks. One time I had to spray an aggressive dog and when I got done, he looked like he had stuck his face in a bag of Cheetos!"
They loved that story!
I was on a roll!
I had a big sheet of paper on an easel.
I stood back several paces and sprayed my dog spray onto the paper so they could see the "pretty orange Cheetos color" for themselves.
What I didn't plan on was the fumes kicking off the sheet of paper and seriously starting to irritate the eyes and nasal passages of six little four year-olds, their teacher, my husband and several other parents that witnessed this unfortunate miscalculation.
The kids started coughing and tearing up.
They started waving their seat cushions in the air.
The teacher ran to the door, opening and closing it, in a desperate attempt to circulate some fresh air into the classroom.
I stood at the head of the class frozen in horror.
As long as I live, my family will never let me forget the day I "went postal" on a bunch of unsuspecting pre-schoolers.