Crimes Against Nature

Today has been a day of realizations. Some old. Some new. Some borrowed. Some blue. Wait a minute. . . sorry, none are blue, and I don’t think any are borrowed, but who knows. . . In my attempts to be whorish material by Halloween, I have been at the gym a lot more lately. I have also been eating more, that is not helping. While at the gym there was something extremely horrific going on today. I don’t know if it is something that has been a constant fact that has only now made its way into my consciousness or if there is some highly contagious virus that is spreading through our beloved city. About a third of the men that I saw in the locker room (and it was around noon, so there were many to see) had their shirts tucked INTO their underwear! I know, at this point, you may be feeling that if I can make up something so heinous and preposterous that I have probably made up most of the other details of my life. Well, one may hope, but, sadly, it is true. Shirts tucked ceremoniously into unsuspecting underwear. I was shocked and morally outraged! I am going to attempt to get a proposal on the November ballot to ban such outrageous and unsightly behavior. If you are one of the guilty, for shame!!! In penance, place your face in your toilet and flush.
I have also had to come face to face that I have been lying to my students for over six years. Anytime a bee, hornet, or any other winged stinging thing entered our presence, my students (most often those of male persuasion) would scream in abject terror, flail their arms about haphazardly, and either run for the door or attempt to kill the poor creature for no greater offense than being what it was born to be. Perhaps I project too many of my own issues upon said insect, but still. . . I would roll my eyes, and calmly tell the children to sit and leave the poor, frightened being alone. If they would not bother it, it would not bother them.
Tonight, as fate would have it, within the same twenty-four hours of being a victim of fashion pornography, the insectile world plotted against me. I was in my grad class (the one that is the largest waste of time, btw), and we were all circled around in the front of the classroom, discussing the merit of our readings. Many of my classmates were deeply affected and invested by what was read and discussed—one day they will learn it is all a game, and all bullshit, and that teaching has nothing to do with what we are being taught at present. As I sat there observing the so called educational process trudging ahead full steam, a yellow-jacket (or wasp) began to introduce itself to many of my fellow academics. They, much like the younger academics that I have had so much exposure to, yelped, jumped, and squealed in that strange combination of fear and giddiness. I simply sat with my arms crossed and let my misunderstood friend buzz around my head. I gently swiped my hand across my face so that he could not inspect my eyes intimately. He flew away for a second and then, missing me, returned to my presence. Apparently, the diets and workouts are having an effect and have increased my robust attractiveness. Wanting a better look at the slowly changing physique, my little friend glanced once more at my face, tucked his wings to his side, and plunged down my shirt. I stood up, books falling to the floor and asked for clarification of the situation. The other prospective teachers assured me that my torso indeed had an uninvited guest. I excused myself (manners always of up-most importance) and left the classroom. Outside of the class is a hallway, and one of the walls is completely formed of windows looking out upon the campus. I unbuttoned my shirt, in practice for Halloween, and stood half naked in my grad school. Having finished his inspection of my body, Mr. Hornet flew to the window, perched, and gazed down at me, buzzing his wings in contentment. I think I should be insulted that he chose to not plunge his dagger into me—I knew having Sonic last night was a mistake! Shaking my head, I buttoned up my brown flannel shirt and returned to class and sat down. Everyone smiled at me and inquired upon my health. After being reassured that my skin was still in virgin form, they informed me that I had buttoned my shirt incorrectly. Indeed, I had done less than a sufficient job to cover my ‘nakedness.’ I returned to the glass hallway to strip once more. My friend was still in his voyeuristic position and watched as I made myself presentable once again. Thankfully, as I did not tuck my shirt into my underwear, and I actually was wearing underwear today, I was able to survive this encounter without having to drop trou and readjust, much to my little friend’s disillusionment.