One day last week, I was on my way to class when I felt the urge to use the bathroom. With a quick poke of the head into my colleague's classroom to ask him to watch my kids, I ran to the faculty bathroom (which is located two floors down, mind you). After performing my daily natural functions, I proceeded to the sink to wash my hands. At the sink, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. When examining my face in the mirror, I often experience jamais vu and do not recognize myself. Upon viewing myself as if for the first time, it was then I realized something: I am a sexy motherfucker.
Now upon this realization I set out to determine the origin of this phenomenon. Surely, the face that looked back at me may have had something to do with it...exhausted, yet burning with the fuel of idealism, five o-clock shadow and slightly disheveled hair lending to an atmosphere of young intellectual masculinity too cerebral to be concerned with his appearance, yet having his appearance saved by his innate cuteness offsetting his lack of superficial grooming. Nevertheless, this was not the cause. Neither was my ensemble of khaki pants, oxford cotton shirt, green sweater vest, bow-tie, and sports jacket. The center of my sex appeal was presently being clutched in my right hand, my rank book.
Yes, the red covered tome in which I hold the very essence of your life. Within the myriad of pages in this imposing tome, I have scribbled your name, student id, and most importantly your grade...the numerical assessment that will determine your very future. This book contains power, and power is inherently sexy.
Fuck you. You know that it's true, that is why you have dressed as the naughty schoolgirl. You think I did not notice the plaid pleated mini skirt and glaringly white knee-highs that work in concert to accentuate your callipygousness ? Or would you rather pretend that I did not notice, so you can watch my brow furrow in displeasure when you use words such as "woot" and "meh," knowing that such behavior grates against my grammarian's sensibilities and will be punished in due time? Yes, in my classroom, you even submit the power of the movements of your tongue as you meekly look up at me from your seat as you read from your textbook, with the green faded covers, of Victorian poetry....wondering if your elocution properly accentuates Browning's use of anapestic tetrameter.
And in the end, you await with delicious anticipation my overall assessment and grading of your performance, knowing that each mistake, each swath of the red pen, each night in detention, each session of corporal punishment only serves to shape you into a better person. Your mental and physical evolution guided by the tutoring of my more experienced hand. I shall shape your mind and body in the forge of my will.