I catch up with a friend who is a teacher. He tells me about having to look after his team at a cricket match.
"The visiting teacher was such a ravenous closet case," he sighs, poking away at a flapjack. "I wish he'd just come out and said 'Fancy a shag?', then I could have turned him down and got on with the afternoon. Instead he practically chased me round the pavillion. He sweating in the unusual places where only fat people sweat and he was all red in the face. It was repulsive. But he wouldn't actually get to the point. He'd just waffle on about liking a tight pair of shorts if you know what I mean, nudge nudge wink wink. It was awful."
It's weird how suddenly you're back at school remembering EXACTLY that teacher.
(update: lawks, how many typos? i have massive cold)
Sparkling Cyanide (1945)
1 year ago