Teach, Part 2

So, I'm going to try to wrap up Teach's story and then tell you about my fab weekend plans. These weekend plans will, I'm sure, provide more fodder for the blog.



Back to Teach...



When we left our story, my sister Perky had just informed me that she had given my number to my former high school science teacher.



Me: "You gave him my number?"

Perky: "Yes, he asked for it."

Me: "So...my former high school teacher who said orgasm in front of the class and who also doesn't remember that he taught me both physical science and the meaning of the word orgasm is going to call me?"

Perky: "Yes, that's it in a nutshell."

Me: "Lovely. How long do I have to prepare for this phone call?"

Perky: "I don't know. Probably tomorrow. He sounded pretty excited."

Me: "Interesting. And he has no idea that he was my teacher back in the day?"

Perky: "None. Maybe we should get Coolio to tell him before he actually calls you. Oh, and he's sending you a friend request on Facebook."

Me: "Of course he is. Good to know."



After my conversation with my sis, I sat and pondered Teach. What, besides the orgasm comment, did I remember about him? He was tall, thin, and blond. He wore glasses, which I've always kinda liked on a man, and he was intelligent. Not too shabby. Let's see...he'd be 45 now...man, I hope he still has hair. I usually dated younger men (which is a whole 'nother frikkin story), so it might be nice to date someone older. I wondered if the former teacher thing would bother me. Would I be very aware of the fact that I was having dinner with a man I used to say, "yes, sir" to? I decided on three things for the time being:

1. Get some sleep.

2. Check out his facebook profile first thing in the morning.

3. Call the besties from SSTHS - Tamara and Padma



(By the way, everyone gets aliases in this blog, even my friends. I have decided to name my besties after characters in my favorite tv shows. Tamara is from Real Housewives; Padma is from Top Chef.)

First, I check the profile. He's aged well. Still a head full of hair (thank the baby Jesus), though now the blond is streaked with gray - kinda makes it look taupe, which for some reason I dig. He's still thin; in fact, he's in really great shape. I make a mental note that if I decide to go out with him that I will choose an outfit that emphasizes the boobs and downplays my fat thighs. There's nothing alarming in his profile, so I proceed to the next phase - call the girls.

First, I call Padma, my best friend since preschool. Bless Padma's heart. The poor girl deserves a medal - or some sort of fabulous all-expense paid vacation. She knows everything about me. I can't tell you how many times over the past two and half years that I have called her to say, "I need to confess..." When I do something wrong (often), stupid (fairly frequently), or horny (not too terribly often), I always feel better after I call her to confess. She listens without judging (a rare quality), then she blesses me and gives me some sort of penance to perform. They are usually easy to complete and often quite fun, "Drink a margarita, eat some chocolate, have a cry if you must, and watch a stupid movie until you laugh so hard you forget the bastard." You may go to a priest in times of moral slip-ups, but Padma works for me. She is my best friend, my confessor, and my moral barometer. She loves me even when I screw up, but she does try to intervene beforehand and steer me toward the right path (said path often does NOT include some young twenty-something guy that I have sworn is "different" than all the other young'uns I've attempted to date.)

Padma: "What did you do?"

Me: "No, it's nothing like that...nothing to confess today."

Padma: "Oh good. So, what's up?"

Me: "Perky is trying to set me up."

Padma: "Interesting...she's never done that before. Who is he? Do I know him?"

Me: "Yep. From high school."

Padma: "Very interesting. Were we friends with him?"

Me: "No, I don't think we had much in common then."

Padma: "Ew. He didn't hang out down by the band hall did he, with those scary people who used all those bad words we didn't know?"

Me: "Nope. Pretty sure he hung out in the teachers' lounge."

Padma: "Oh. Oh my..."

Me: "A teacher."

Padma: "What grade?"

Me: "Ninth. Physical science."

Padma: "Was he the one who said that word that you had to look up in the dictionary?"

Me: "Yes, which, by the way, you were as clueless as me. You would've had to look it up, too."

Padma: "Point taken."

Me: "Yep. So, here's my question for you - morally okay to go out with a former authority figure?"

Padma: "Hmmm...yeah, I'm okay with it, actually. Nice change for you. How old?"

Me: "You always ask that."

Padma: "With you the question is always necessary."

Me: "Point taken. He's 45."

Padma: "I approve."

Me: "Groovy. He's calling tonight."

Padma: "Call me immediately afterward."

Me: "Of course."

Padma: "One more question. What grade did you get?"

Me: "A"

Padma: "Nice. Keep me posted."

My next step was to call Tamara. Which, sadly, I will have to detail for you later. I'm about to get on the road for a fun-filled weekend with friends.

And, yes, I know I haven't answered the mailbag questions yet. I will do that soon, I promise. Have an extra groovy Friday night, my readers.

Love you muchly,

Annabelly