Two paths in a lame wood

The biggest grade 8 baby, the one who at times has made me consider abandoning my profession and instead rocking gently in a chair at Zellers for the rest of my life, wrote "I like to do animals" in French today. Of course this was a mistake. He did not intend to tell me about some sick fantasy in the language of love. It was an error born of the consequences of his actions which to date have been none that appear productive or conducive to learning French. It was like that moment I've been waiting for when I could pull out all the stops and really embarrass his sorry ass.
I could have smirked gently and said, "Hmm, you like to do animals do you?" just loud enough for everyone to hear.
I could have given him a feigned astonished look and quiet, disapproving shake of the head before launching into a speech about how embarrassing it is to say you like to have relations with animals. People in a foreign country would not be as understanding as we are here and he better hope he shapes up before leaving for France and saying something so stupid. He would feel like an idiot. So if he just quit rolling his eyes all the time... etc.
The choice. To be or not to be, that teacher.
Well, for better or worse, I took that road less travelled by, you know, the high road. The place where two paths fork: one goes to hell and is paved with good intentions and the other road, the skinny, high road leads right into a rainbow and ends in a pot-o-gold. That's right. I didn't even crack a smile at that creepy perv.
Hmm, this seems vaguely like a concept I am becoming familiar with. Could it be, no, it couldn't. Not, maturity?
I think it might just be the beginnings of something along that line.