"And your grades are good, have you started thinking about your next step? Are you looking for a job, or thinking about grad school?"

My wife likes stirring shit up.

Pooh-sticks is a game Pooh and Piglet play by throwing sticks off the upstream side of the bridge and seeing whose stick shows up downstream first.

"Then YOU chase it," I say, giving her my stick.

I look around for a hospital, but I know the closest is a 10-minute walk away. There are no pharmacies either, not even a tissue and bandage store.

My students hump the midterm. It wasn't just bad, it was historically bad. An epic humping. Two-thirds of the class got below 50 percent.

They don't look at their phones like you think they would be, rather they sit across the table from each other, holding hands, leaning in with their faces close and stare at each other as they chat.

There is no way I can be mistaken for a grad student, so if he has looked at me, it can only be a challenge.