St Andrews Lutheran School

I am somewhat proud to say that I am an alum of St. Andrews. My biggest problem was that they teach-​ugh– German. I wanted to take French, so I convinced my parents to go public and send me to Lincoln Junior High once I hit 7^th grade. Way better. WAY more useful for flirting. Can you imagine flirting in German? Ach-​tooie. Here, let me wipe all the slobber off my face before I kiss you.
Anyways, they also made you go to church on a weekly basis. This was only okay. However, if I could find that cute little blonde boy I had to sit with who was a few years behind me, I would be truly thankful to God. Where are you, Little Blonde Boy? All the Facebook searches in the world won’t get me your name without an old yearbook. Oh well, you’re probably knee deep in a loveless marriage with several little blonde children by now. Find me when you turn 45 and wake up.
From what I recall, St. Andrews had a fully stocked school supply counter, for all the number 2s you could possibly want. This fostered an early love of shopping; can one really have enough pencilserasersbookbagslunchboxesshoes? The answer: no.
Miss Ness: you had anger control issues. I did not cheat on that math test, for the last time. I merely said thank you to Krista Dimberg for picking up my dropped pencil.
Mr. Dennis: you smelled funny. Somewhere there is a comic about you. I’m not sure where.
Mrs. Barkau: you had a set of encyclopedia that taught me about ghosts. Thank you for this.
To all other alum: I’m sorry my artist mom was «picture lady.» She hated giving the presentations almost as much as we hated listening to them. Juan Miro mimeographs can still be found in the back of her file cabinets, scrawled with curse words, smeared with coffee rings.
Anyways, StA: stay cool. If you allowed dogs, I’d go all over again.