The Band Teacher is back. For those not in the know, let me try to explain just who the Band Teacher is.
The Band Teacher taught at our school for a couple of years before she went back to college. She's actually pretty talented, and comparing her students to other students, it turns out she was a really, really good teacher.
She also works out a lot. Her stomach is flat like a slice of sashimi. That helps to accentuate her boobs. I'm also willing to bet you can bounce quarters off her ass.
One day I helped the Band Teacher change the oil in her car. As a reward, and good mistresses reward lowly slaves, she treated me to McDonalds. I think I had Chicken Selects.
A student of ours just happened to be in the same fast food establishment. That was "patient zero." If you haven't worked at a school filled with preteen girls, you haven't seen a real grapevine in action. The rumor mill was in full swing.
The next day, the whole school was talking about how someone saw me kissing the Band Teacher. The grapevine is fast. Faster than an SR71. However, it's about as accurate as a SCUD.
Sounds like fun times, right? WRONG!
I'm guessing the Band Teacher enjoys talking to me. She calls me now and then just to chat. However, she tends to have a low bullshit tolerance. If I start to go into my usual, lovable, misogynistic self, I get the "look."
I can't make comments about how women are the anti-Christ no matter how sound my reasoning is. I have to watch what I say. I can't be too rude or crude, which sucks. If I try to smell someones burp, I would be in the doghouse. The other crappy part is that I can't flirt with her. She has like a lvl 6 Protection from Lechers spell or something.
I visited her one Saturday and I guess I must have said something funny because I got kicked... hard.
It didn't hurt. I only cried for like 4 minutes and the doctor said the bruise would heal.
I also can't tease other people when she's around. The crazy lady seems to identify with two legged mammals with permanent mammary glands. I have been left to bleed behind a dumpster after commenting on the temperature after studying a boobometer. I got off easy. Heaven knows what would have happened if I tried to determine if it measured in Celsius or liters.
Jugs.
So now that she's back, she'll probably want to hang out. I'm too scared to say no. Perhaps I can modify my personal space shields into something more tangible like barbwire.
Of course, if she reads this, I am as good as dead. So, my dear readers, all three of you, if the blogs stop, start dredging the rivers. You'll eventually find my mangled corpse rotting with a smile because I would most likely get off one joke before I swing.
1 comment:
Well... As one of the three that actually reads this stuff.....
(I think I'm one of the three, not sure if you even care. Honestly, don't care if you do.)
Have you kissed her? And... Isn't it against "Policy" to date co-workers? Or is that just the accepted norm now?
I give this blog 1 thumb down. And the middle finger up.
I say that with love.
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