No, scratch that, I have convinced myself that she would without a doubt lace my coffee with arsenic given the opportunity.
I am so convinced of this fact that I have contemplated leaving a signed note in my desk to that effect. It would read something like the following:
If you're reading this, I am surely in some sort of tragic distress and have been rushed to a nearby medical facility through the use of emergency vehicle as my organs slowly and painfully shut down. I can't be certain of course, but I have a strong inkling that my assistant is to blame. Please follow-up on this crucial clue to solving the heinous crime that has quite clearly been perpetrated resulting in your being authorized access to my desk where this letter is casually stored front and center in the top middle drawer. And, I don't mean follow-up in the same sense as when people write "SEE I.D" on the signature line of their credit cards, I mean it with all sincerity and just as much eagerness. For further proof just ask the co-workers whom seem most likely to have been privy to my well developed theories on the matter, which let's be honest, is just about all the ones I talk to.
P.S. Don't be fooled by her sweet as pie demeanor either! CSI has surely taught you the truth.I have began taking precautions as my paranoia, which clearly comes from my inner-city upbringing (Detroit, What?!), has skyrocketed right past rational thought at this point. And, in case you were wondering, "this point" is just before I indulge in an adult beverage, after which time my writing becomes stale and I truly believe everyone loves me (well, maybe the latter comes after a few drinks). Although I have no fear that a student would go through my desk and find my log o' misbehavior, I have decided that my assistant might, and have thus started to lock my desk and computer upon leaving the room. Also, considering the pad of paper I use to take the notes on is front and center in the top middle drawer for easy access (much like my imaginary note), I may want to begin thinking about alternative hiding places - and while I'm doing that, I might want to look into locking the cabinet where I actually keep my coffee supplies.
Naturally my father has been caught in the onslaught as every day after school I sit at my desk and dial him up. My guess is that he started to consider changing his personal extension to avoid what is rapidly becoming a tradition sometime around last Tuesday, give or take a day. Of course, I only call to tell him how my day went - and share my misery while ultimately blaming him for my undue stress, and then at the end of the week, e-mail demanding a new purse.