A history teacher called Ms. Larne and her girlfr
A history teacher called Ms. Larne and her girlfriend who is a ADHD English teacher called Ms. Evans are at home after a day school but Ms. Evans is sick so keeps sneezing and there is dialogue. Say the sneeze
The aroma of simmering chili wafted through the small apartment, a comforting counterpoint to the symphony of sneezes emanating from the living room. Ms. Larne, a history teacher with a penchant for crisp lines and historical accuracy, sighed, pushing a stray curl behind her ear.
“You really need to stay in bed,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “I swear, you sound like a foghorn on the verge of a meltdown.”
Across from her, Ms. Evans, the English teacher with a whirlwind of energy and a constant stream of ideas, was battling a particularly stubborn cold. Her face was flushed, her eyes watery, and her nose was a crimson beacon. A particularly violent sneeze erupted from her, sending a spray of droplets across the room.
“Achoo!” she exclaimed, wiping her nose with a crumpled tissue. “Sorry, honey. It’s like a volcano erupting in my head.”
Ms. Larne shook her head fondly. “It’s a wonder you haven’t sneezed the whole apartment into a different dimension. But seriously, I’m not letting you go back to school like this. You’ll spread this plague to the entire student body.”
“But I have a lesson plan due on Shakespeare’s sonnets!” Ms. Evans protested, her voice wavering slightly. “And I can’t exactly teach from the confines of my bed.”
“You could always try teaching through telepathy,” Ms. Larne suggested, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Think of the possibilities. ‘To be or not to be…’ sneeze! ‘That is the question…’ Achoo!”
Ms. Evans giggled, the sound slightly strained but genuine. “I’d rather not risk turning my students into a chorus of sniffling, sneezing zombies. Besides, they’d probably think I was possessed by a literary spirit.”
“A sneeze-filled spirit, you mean?” Ms. Larne chuckled, reaching across the coffee table to take Ms. Evans’ hand. “Just rest. I’ll make you some tea and we can watch a movie. You know, something with a compelling narrative, dramatic tension… something like a documentary about the history of sneezing.”
Ms. Evans laughed, her sneezes momentarily forgotten. “You’re impossible, you know that? But that’s why I love you.”
Ms. Larne smiled, her heart warming at the sight of Ms. Evans, despite her illness, still radiating that unique, vibrant energy that drew her in. “I love you too, you sneezy, wonderful, Shakespeare-obsessed… achoo… woman.”
The sneeze, this time shared, echoed through the apartment, a testament to the love and laughter that could withstand even the most virulent of colds.
