London Bridge is falling down. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Down came Whitman, cradle and all?

The school is falling apart. There’s no denying it. It’s like a tsunami hit the school.

The stage floor is creaking, water seems to always be gushing somewhere it shouldn’t be, the health room supplies are destroyed, a girl lit the soap dispenser on fire and the gym floors are breaking.

Geez, Whitman is starting to sound more and more like my kvetching grandparents. Oy vey.

The building is not even that old. Most of the parents who also went to Whitman remember the gym that used to be a dome and the Whitman that wasn’t a circle. Perish the thought!

And, in one of the first years that Whitman sports are consistently worth watching, we don’t even have a home court, let alone a home court advantage. So props to wrestling and basketball: the school may collapse, but at least you have some attractive muscles and shiny medals to show off.

But, there are easy ways to get over the school-mageddon.

First, blame all of your problems on MCPS. They let all of this happen, did nothing about it and allowed Walter Johnson to get a total renovation. All we get is “home” games at their brand new facilities. But, oh, that’s right. We’re not really at home because our school gym is in shambles.

Whitman is like the lame cousin that no one likes. Instead of getting a cool gift from the family when they go away, we get the “My family went to [Exotic City] and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.” Fantastic.

Next, blame fate. It doesn’t matter if you believe fate is determined by fortune cookies, the messages on coke bottle caps or the number of times the guy you like circles around your table at lunch. Clearly, fate hates Whitman with a fiery passion. And when fate hates something, there’s no stopping it.

Then again, maybe fate just wants to get Docta G in shape. Every time the tsunami hits, he has to run up and down the halls to fix the latest disaster before it’s too late. He’s become quite the speed walking champion.

But, no. Fate is never nice, so most likely this is just the beginning.

One day the school will start pairing us up Noah’s Ark style. We will board the ship and be stuck with our teachers and the kids we hate for all of eternity. Thanks a lot MCPS. I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with the kids that have known me since I was a snotty second grader.

Clearly we need an “America’s Next Top Model” style make-over (guys, don’t even try to deny that you’ve see the show). We may cry at the drastic, seemingly unwanted changes. But once we see the changes, Whitman will be fierce.