Sometimes the worst parents are the ones that are teachers themselves, and most of my colleagues knew about Mr and Mrs X, who both worked for a local independent school. For some reason, they decided to send their two sons to our "grotty comprehensive" - something they claimed was their way of giving something back to the community - but which I think said more about the misgivings they had about their own school.
I had been warned they might prove challenging at parents' evening, but was unprepared for the full-scale box-ticking exercise they intended to put me through on their younger son's performance. I'd had easier Ofsted observations.
"Exactly how do you benchmark J's attainment averages against national numeracy targets?" they pressed me.
"Well he's done very well in his tests," I explained. "But how well is well?" they persisted.
At this point my new head of department walked over to the desk, keen to impress a couple of fellow teachers. I happily passed Mr and Mrs X over to him, explaining that my superior would be happy to provide further details. It was his first term at our school, so he could hardly refuse.
When I caught my boss's eye over the cheese nibbles and wine later that evening I gave him a wry smile, knowing that next morning I'd be for it.
The writer is a primary teacher from Lincolnshire. Send your worst parent stories to email@example.com.