I entered the school building, schedule in hand, in search of home room #308, one of the Spanish classrooms.
I found the room and sat down at an empty desk.
And that’s when I noticed that child #3’s teacher is smoking hot.
I came home and gave a summary of back-to-school night to W.
Me: So, first there was home room …
W: Yeah, #3 says home room is going to be his hardest class because he has to learn the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish.
Me: Shit, I would have had it memorized by now. You should have seen his home room teacher. She is totally hot.
Me: Si. So, anyway, about back to school night. There was home room. And that was good. (shuffles through papers) There really isn’t anything else to report. Just home room. Oh, his Social Studies teacher was weird.
W: All 8th-grade Social Studies teachers are weird.
Me: I think you’re right. Mine was a real weirdo.
Me: So, you want to hear about the home room teacher?
Me: Okay. She has dark eyes and dark hair. She was wearing these tight black pants … you know the stretchy kind that really accent a woman’s curves? And high heels. But you should have seen her from the back. There were pockets on the back of her pants, and she filled them out in just the right way.
W listened politely. She knows that sometimes I can’t help myself. Besides, I don’t want the Spanish teacher. I want her. I always want her. She’s much more understanding than I am when it comes to admiring other women. I have a jealous streak that’s about a mile wide.
* * *
Today, the Spanish teacher randomly popped up in conversation.
W: You could always say: El gato es muy contento.
Me: The cat is very happy? I don’t think that would be appropriate.
W: Yeah, probably not.