Singin' In The Acid Rain
The New Yorker|July 1, 2019

Dear Parents,

What an exciting year 2058 has been for our third-grade class. Summer is just about to begin, and already we’ve seen a hundred and forty-eight days of rain and a lightning bolt that spelled “Wear a hat.”

Patricia Marx
Singin' In The Acid Rain

As we prepare for our end-of-term barbecue, a few of you have asked whether the event will be cancelled because Thursday’s forecast calls for increased yuckiness. No way! Didn’t we learn in October that when life gives you wildfires, make s’mores? The prediction of a hurricane of hail and fire doesn’t mean that it has to be all gloomy and doomy for our class— except for Didi Davis, who was swept away by a roving glacier last week on her way to school. In lieu of flowers, please send donations to the Where Have All the Flowers Gone? Fund c/o Dark Horizons Elementary School (“Our Children Are Not the Future”).

Next, snacks. I know that we were all disappointed last month when our nutritionist, Mr. O’Donnell, announced that the cafeteria would no longer be serving its famous Miami Coconut- Patty Treats on account of Florida not existing anymore. Mr. O’D promises to whip up an even yummier replacement in time for the barbecue. I can’t say more—it’s a surprise—but please let us know if your child is allergic to anything, including radioactivity.

この記事は The New Yorker の July 1, 2019 版に掲載されています。

7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、8,500 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。

この記事は The New Yorker の July 1, 2019 版に掲載されています。

7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、8,500 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。