When the sweet new boy in my classroom brings a tray of caviar and blini, truffle popcorn, and oysters for movie day, I decide to take matters into my own hands and see the parents.
Because no, six-year-olds, including the boy himself, generally don’t enjoy snacks that look like boogers and smell like feet.
So you can imagine my surprise when I discover the boy has three new guardians who are cocky billionaires to boot.
If I think their parenting skills are lacking, I’m even more baffled when they mistake me for a call girl, with the uptight teacher act down to an art form.
