Duffers5 meets Obama

I enter a class to teach. Everything is deathly silent. This is unusual. One soul looks at me from beneath his long curtains and mutters something vaguely intelligible - now I am on familiar ground.
"Do you have something to say?" I ask. One of them swivels round on his chair and stares at me.
"Anything the matter?" I ask.
"Maybe," he replies.
I wait. My eyes are now squinting and my eyebrows raise as I cross my arms in a defensive manner, expecting the normal moans and groans about "effort" and "I don't get it" which has long featured in my job as an educator.
He is now silent and I am intrigued as all eyes are now upon me but strangely in a look of slight awe. Bloody hell. I do believe these youths have got it. By Jove. They've got it. The woman speaks too soon.
"Miss, do you use Twitter?" The loam wolf asks.
I am baffled. Well, I have used Twitter in the past but only really to deliver a stream of consciousness - or bullshite as my husband would say. I follow friends, because they ask and want to promote things. I follow Catlin Moran, because she makes me laugh. I rarely comment. I haven't even mastered retweet. My sons have blocked me because I used to stalk them so my Twitter account is redundant. I failed to even fathom how to attach my blog to it.
" Why." I ask.
The six foot wolf spins round on his chair and looks me straight in the face. The rest of the class also stare.
" Ok, I have a Twitter account and it's boring. I haven't a clue how to use it. Why would it be of any interest to you and how is it relevant? Plus, I am slightly concerned as to why you are bothering to find me."
The wolf leans forward. " It's not us that you should be worried about Miss. It's Obama."
Now, I am interested. "Who?"
"The President!" his tongue drips with patronisation.
I am now baffled. Obama? What are they going on about. I shake my head and return to task and they slink back to their lairs.
That evening, I log on and blow me down with a feather - I am a friend of Obama. He is following me and it's the real deal. I'm not following him but he clearly likes me. So either Michelle and BO think my rare and random tweets are legendary (completely unlikely) or as one student announced under her breath as she left my room, "probably a threat to national security" .  Alas, again no chance, I'm in bed by eight thirty on a good day and my days of protest are gone, worn down by bearing sons. Therefore, Obama just must have stumbled across this blog on Facebook and finds his daughters as frustrating as I find my sons! Mr President I feel your pain.