F is for Fabulous

This should be brief, because it's past my bedtime and I haven't yet undergone my extensive preparing for bed routine. I assume most women have such a routine: wash the face, apply toner and any special creams; brush and floss; remove contact lenses; pluck errant hairs; contemplate one's image for a moment; moisturize hands; fold and put away clothes; crawl into bed to read for a bit. It's markedly different from the male routine, which is oblivious to facial and dental hygiene. T-money is of the opinion that "sleep happens" without needing to ready oneself for it; while he is logically in the right, I maintain that this phrase was funny four years ago and its humor is now long past its expiration date. Besides, I have minty fresh breath and a clean visage when I slide into bed. He doesn't have to kiss the evening's enchiladas goodnight.

Old enchiladas aside, I'm a bit bummed out on the teacher front tonight. It looks like 3-4 students from my morning class are going to fail, just for lack of trying, and about half of my evening class, for lack of showing up. I ran into a past student at the bookstore today, who reassured me (without prompting--art students are really weirdly attuned to professorial ego) that I'm a good teacher and my students are to blame. Ah, who knows. I appreciated the sweet words coming from his bepierced lips. I've just never failed so many students. Not even the quasi-illiterate Samoan football player, who I passed out of pity for his sports scholarship (I know, I know. These kinds of favors to athletes are unethical and are leading to the dissolution of higher education. But you look a giant boy-man in the eyes and tell him his dreams of going pro are about to be dashed by his poor understanding of pronouns.). It's disheartening. To paraphrase one of my best friends (and loyal blog reader), if everyone just did what I told them to do when I told them to do it, the world would be a better place. Certainly the writing classroom would be!

I'm going to have to lay the smack down in my summer course. No late work! No emailed papers! No sob stories about cats falling from third-story balconies! No being a punk ass pain in my butt.

The butt that now is going to pack herself off to bed. After a 20-minute cleansing, of course.