As Mrs. Codswallop was placing her anise-swordfish-starfruit (or as her children regarded them, ass) biscuits into the oven, she had a revelation. Wouldn’t it be dandy if I became an artist! She hastily took off her oven mitts embroidered with baby sheep and out of her linty purse pulled out a brochure she had taken where the local university was hosting art classes taught by professor Dee. There was a drawing class in room 201 at 3 pm. Perfect! It was 2:20, just enough time to get there and settle in. Determined, she walked to her light blue Toyota corolla (her “steed” as she called it) and made haste to the University. 

She walked into room 201 at 2:47 pm and was the first one there. She picked an easel at the very front and admired the pristinely angled charcoal and the pearly white eraser that hadn’t touched paper yet. At 2:58 pm, the first person finally arrived. It was a sleep-deprived young kid, around 18 or 19, with thick glasses and navy blue tennis shoes. At 2:59 pm, a swarm of young people arrived, breathing a sigh of relief that they weren’t late. They lugged in their large portfolio cases and sat down at their respective easel. Mrs. Codswallop saw the students eyeing her peculiarly, but thought nothing of it. She heard a student with pink hair behind her whisper

“Did you hear about Annabelle? One of her turtle eggs hatched and the baby had five legs so she is taking it to the Foundation for the Unique Condition of extra Knees to be investigated, and will be gone for two weeks!” The back door opened, and a very frazzled Professor Dee plodded in. He was at least a head shorter than Mrs. Codswallop, who was not very tall, to begin with, and was skinny as a rail. He had round glasses and unruly white hair. He was wearing loafers with mismatched socks, herringbone pants, and a long ivory smock decorated with various paint splatters. A polka-dotted bow tie peeked out from the collar of his smock. He carried a briefcase in one hand, and a mug that said "I love my schnauzer" in the other.

“Good morning class”, he wheezed, out of breath. “Forgive my tardiness, my wife had a hard time tying my bowtie. Today, I want you to capture something that is important to you. Whether it be your childhood dog or the idea of world peace, it has to be something that touches your heart. You have 2 hours. Please begin!” Mrs. Codswallop was puzzled. Goodness me, what should I draw? She thought to herself as she nervously looked around the room, the students instinctively creating thumbnail sketches. 45 minutes went by of dawdling and raking through the endless muck in her brain until she finally came up with a decent idea.

*               *               *

“Alright class, pencils down!” exclaimed Professor Dee, who obviously just woke up from his two-hour snoozle as evident by the crusted line of drool on the edge of his lip. Mrs. Codswallop stepped back from her drawing, charcoal on almost every surface in her workspace, including herself, and felt proud. As class protocol, Professor Dee would showcase each piece in front of the class for a live critique. First up was the girl with pink hair. She looked very proud of her work, very well should be. She drew a very realistic, very fat bulldog. Mrs. Codswallop was enamored by her skill set. The beautiful blending and scumbling made fido leap off of the page. However, Mr. Dee looked puzzled. 

“Ms. Green, it's only alright. The piece needs more depth, and the values in the jowls need to be much darker. C minus.” Ms. Green walked back to her easel, looking crushed. 

“Mr. DUUUUUUNE! You are next!” Mr. Dee bellowed. Mr. Dune was a shy little fellow, a bean pole of a lad who wore a blue crotched hat. He gingerly placed his piece on the easel. It was a portrait of a jovial-looking old man, and he captured him with a toothy grin on his face. It was quite a sentimental moving piece. Mr. Dee spent a long time looking over the piece. Surely he was going to give it a positive review? It was flawless. 

“Mr. Dune, this is a good start, but it is far from finished.” Mrs. Codswallop heard a wave of gasps from the rest of the students.

“I don’t really see what you are trying to convey here. I need more of your personal voice, Mr. Dune.”

“But that is my dead grandfather!” pleaded an exasperated Mr. Dune.

“Even MORE personal! NEEEXT!” he retaliated.

This meant that Mrs. Codwallop was next. The students were whispering about, 

Who’s she? Is she even allowed to be here? She stood up.

“Now what is your name dearie?” said a smiling Mr. Dee.

“I am Mrs. Codswallop. Very nice to meet you, sir, I am new to the class.”

“Jolly good, jolly good. Please put your piece up on the easel.” To the embarrassment of Mrs. Codswallop, a ripple effect of snickers echoed around the classroom. She was extremely proud of her charcoaled stick-figured family against the backdrop of a square house with two windows, and a sun with a smiley face. She was also extremely proud of her husband's slight potbelly that she was able to capture. At this point, the class was in stitches, hooting and howling at Mrs. Codswallops's piece. 

“Now that's a load of Codswallop if I’ve ever seen one!” yelled someone from the back of the room. To the chagrin of Mrs. Codswallop, Mr. Dee was silent. The hooting died down once the students realized how long Mr. Dee was looking at the canvas. He was looking deeply into her piece, his thumb, and index finger hugging his chin. His eyes moved wildly about, but his scrawny body remained motionless. Mrs. Codswallop was swaying uneasily, awaiting his much-anticipated feedback. After what felt like an eternity, he finally stirred.

“BRILLIANT!” he bellowed and simultaneously jumped up and clicked his heels together, half of the class physically jumping out of their seats.

“ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT! Class, this is some artistic genius right here. With her technical skill and astounding compositions, Mrs. Codswallop has single-handedly re-defined what it means to make art!” Mr. Dee was so excited he started to bounce on the balls of his pointy shoes. 

“Class, please take note of Mrs. Codswallop's skills while you still can, for she will be a famous artist, and this piece will surely be featured in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

“Mr. Dee!” a student exclaimed from the back of the classroom. “You’ve forgotten to put your spectacles back on!” Mr. Dee blinked.

“Oh, I suppose you are right. Now that you mention it, everything has been looking a speck blurry.” Clumsily Feeling around his desk, Mr. Dee procured his spectacles and put them on. “I can’t wait to see this masterpiece without my 20/200 vision!”