In another life, I think my mother would have been a copywriter. She is funny, creative and enjoys language. And since she can also function on very little sleep and is a bit of a workaholic, she’d probably be successful.

However, Mom’s love of art and children — or maybe just having the summers off — led her to become an art teacher. She’s very good at what she does, but sometimes her latent copywriter instincts kick in.

Like when her colleagues in the physical education department created this promotional water bottle. As you can see, emblazoned on the front is the following message: PE4ME.

“I tried to tell them that it read like ‘pee for me.’ They wouldn’t listen.” Then she paused, adding, “Idiots,” and shook her head sadly.

She has agreed to let me write a blog post about this. But in fairness to her well-meaning though tragically misguided colleagues, I won’t reveal any names or where she teaches.

Let’s just say that the entire incident could have been prevented by inserting a few periods: “P.E. for ME.” It’s still not great, but at least you wouldn’t have thousands of Maine school children running around squealing, “Pee for me!! Pee for me!!” as they quench their thirst.

Technically I’m still on maternity leave. However, I’ve been guilted back into writing blog posts after learning — via my blog — that my business partner is equating me to the kid who begs for a dog then promptly heads off to college and leaves said dog for said parent to care for.

That’s okay. I’ve missed my dog, I mean blog. It gives me a regular opportunity to vent about things that confuse or irritate me. Well, writing-related things. (Lucky for you, lady on the elevator who felt compelled to say she could tell I was a new mother because of the “big bags” under my eyes.)

Here’s my latest: Trail Lite B-Plus Motor Homes. I parked next to one of their lovely vehicles in the parking lot at The Friendly Toast. I’m not joking; it really was a nice motor home (if you’re into this sort of thing, which I think I might be in about 30-40 more years).

But the “B-Plus” threw me off. Was I wrong? Was this really just a slightly-above-average motor home? A motor home that didn’t care about excellence?

In school, I was a B-plus student, or “very good” (i.e. not excellent) according to the grading key on my report card. For me, B-plusses always came with a vague sense of disappointment and mild regret: If only I’d studied harder, cared more, worn a shorter skirt. Sure, a B-plus is respectable, but it’s not the kind of grade that says, “Hey world, look at me!” Instead, it says, “I probably could have done a little better.”

Is that really the message Trail Lite wants to send?

That night I was still thinking about it. And, having nothing better to do — it’s not like I just had a baby or something — I decided to delve a little deeper into the strange world of motor homes.  I learned that the B-plus is actually a class of motor home — more compact and easy to drive, in case you’re wondering.

So okay, Trail Lite, that’s all well and good, but I suggest you not emblazon that class specification on the side of your vehicles. Here’s why: Most people don’t know that B-Plus means “fun-sized,” so we assume it just means not good enough to get an A.

Worse, as I have learned from my professor-husband, these days a B+ is really more like a D+. Lucky for you, Trail Lite, the average 19-year-old is not in the motor home market, so you’re probably good for a while, but not great. And it would be an excellent idea to rethink your labeling system before they are.