Just no excuse, Brian.
I didn't have to drag myself out of bed at an unearthly hour and drive into the office in the dark while feeling lousy.
Even at school there were times I went under protest, proclaiming illness particularly in the winter, but seldom being believed.
Brian was worse than me.
His mother would go to his room and wake him up but he would always argue.
"Time for school," she would say.
"But I don't want to go," he would say.
"Now come on, Brian, you know you have to go."
"But I don't want to. All the kids make fun of me."
"Now pull yourself together, Brian, and get in that bathroom and get ready for school."
"But I don't want to," he would yell, at the height of his tantrum.
"But Brian. You know you have to go," his mother would say. "You're the teacher."