Before I can register for my next Spanish class, I have to take a placement test. It’s a one-shot deal, no do-overs. And I haven’t attempted to speak a word of Spanish since my last class ended in April.
This is like my recurrent anxiety dream – the one in which I find myself back in high school having skipped the entire semester and with my final exams happening that very day – come to life.
I can’t decide which will be worse in the event I get placed into a beginner’s Spanish class for the third time in my life – the injury to my pride, or the utter boredom.