15-year-olds, dude.
Stomach empty, brain wired and woozy, ready for the day's programme to be over, I directed the scholars (or do we call them learners now, I'm never sure) towards the hall.
"Through the door, go stand in your groups. Through the door, stand in your groups. Stand in your groups, once you're through the door. Door, through, groups, stand". I can handle this. Then one of the little hormone factories, who's been giving me the crazy-eye all morning, makes his move. I can see what's coming: not the exact wording, but the general gist.
"Miss", he starts, sweeping his eyes up and down me as if he's being subtle about it "miss...I like your pants".
You must surely kid me. This is testing my sanity.
"Okay, well, thanks for that. Now, through the door, and stand with your group." you smug little bastard. I need some lunch.
Anyway, so the group activity goes as the group activities go. The boys and girls self-segregate, as if they could catch gender like a communicable disease. Ah, the universal truths of hormonal discourse. Then crazy-eye and a couple of his posse get kicked out for being little pricks. They scurry towards the door, thinking, perhaps, that they were free to bask in the sunshine. Not on my watch. If I'm not having fun, neither are you.
Closing the door behind me, I find them in the corridor. "Boys." They wheel around, surprised by my arrival, but pleased nonetheless. Until I break the news to them: there are no free rides* in this vale of tears!**"Boys... [herewith following a brief speech in which they were crapped upon from a godllike height, ending with] AND I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH DISRESPECT"***.
They looked a little sad as they traipsed into the museum. Good. GOOD! HOW D'YOU LIKE THEM PANTS, HUH?
*or lapdances, depending on who you're talking to.
**in this case, the corridor
***this was said in the tone of voice that implies emasculation and possibly worse. Ladies, I think you will know what I mean.
"Through the door, go stand in your groups. Through the door, stand in your groups. Stand in your groups, once you're through the door. Door, through, groups, stand". I can handle this. Then one of the little hormone factories, who's been giving me the crazy-eye all morning, makes his move. I can see what's coming: not the exact wording, but the general gist.
"Miss", he starts, sweeping his eyes up and down me as if he's being subtle about it "miss...I like your pants".
You must surely kid me. This is testing my sanity.
"Okay, well, thanks for that. Now, through the door, and stand with your group." you smug little bastard. I need some lunch.
Anyway, so the group activity goes as the group activities go. The boys and girls self-segregate, as if they could catch gender like a communicable disease. Ah, the universal truths of hormonal discourse. Then crazy-eye and a couple of his posse get kicked out for being little pricks. They scurry towards the door, thinking, perhaps, that they were free to bask in the sunshine. Not on my watch. If I'm not having fun, neither are you.
Closing the door behind me, I find them in the corridor. "Boys." They wheel around, surprised by my arrival, but pleased nonetheless. Until I break the news to them: there are no free rides* in this vale of tears!**"Boys... [herewith following a brief speech in which they were crapped upon from a godllike height, ending with] AND I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH DISRESPECT"***.
They looked a little sad as they traipsed into the museum. Good. GOOD! HOW D'YOU LIKE THEM PANTS, HUH?
*or lapdances, depending on who you're talking to.
**in this case, the corridor
***this was said in the tone of voice that implies emasculation and possibly worse. Ladies, I think you will know what I mean.
Labels: hormones, Pet Peeves
posted by Betenoir at 2:24 PM
6 Comments:
What, no credit for coming up with the most awesome, killer pick-up line of all time?
Jeez, tough corridor.
nice babe. you show those little pervs who's boss!
PS. i also like those pants ;)
Where's your compassion for those hormones?
It's part of schoolboy cool to perv the teacher!!
Had a similar lecture myself in standard 7, mind you!!
...well, I'm sure you all grew up okay...
I are so proud of you. You are firmly, yet very gracfully, wearing the jean pant too! It are brilliant, I must tell ya...
15. You should speak to Pea's. apparently she likes them young.
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