Tales from the Lesson Studio: Part One

My final student of the day, a lad of eight years abruptly stopped his rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In.” He wrinkled his nose.
“Did you fart?” he asked.
“No,” I lied.
“I’m pretty sure you did,” he said, his expression grave, “Unless you just smell like dog crap all the time.”

Can’t get enough of these kids.

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