Yesterday I sat down with a new student in a beautiful little garden office in San Marino. She has blonde hair, a gorgeous face, and speaks with a sweet, soft voice. She could play the part of INNOCENT WHITE GIRL in any film.

At one point I asked her how she felt about English as a subject.

"I don't really like it. Well, I like it if it isn't too structured. I like it if we get to pick our own topics. I like it if the teacher gives us time to do our projects on what we want. I like murder."

Uh.

"What?!" My eyes widened and I spoke so quickly a pretzel stuck to the back of my throat.

"I mean. I like murder mysteries."

Okkkaaaaaayyyy....

I tried not to feel awkward about it until I asked her to write three sentences using the words they, there, to, too, their, they're, as prescribed by her assignment.

They all had to do with death. Dying.

Possibly murder.

"Is that the sand pit where they buried the boy who was killed?"

"The people went to the empire state building and they jumped off of it."

"She was too suffocated to breathe anymore."

At which point I felt a strong urge to run screaming from the home.

Another student....another....crazy.