We Live Where We Are

Valentine

On Valentine's Day, 3 giggling girls came barreling into the teachers' room after the obligatory thursday morning meeting. Wearily, all the teachers looked up wearing exasperated expressions and I felt sorry for whoever was going to be the recipient of both the girls' attention and the wrath of the teachers who work here.

Then girls made a bee-line to me, scattered a few kitkats on my desk and boldly presented me with a polyester rose. "For you! Varentines plesent for you!" The staffroom fell dangerously silent, this sort of thing isn't done at my school. We take ourselves much too seriously.

Very much touched, and slightly concerned about the subsequent discussions about how I shouldn't socialize with students at my desk since it is a distraction for the 40 other teachers, I politely oohed and ahhed at the beauty of the rose. The girls started snickering wickedly, and then I noticed a tuft of red lace sticking out from the center of the rose. I curiously gave it a tug and the girls suddenly freaked out and started shrieking "NO! NO! Plesent for you and CASHEY! Open it with CASHEY at HOME! For your VARENTINES with CASHEY! LOVE-LOVE!" All the teachers in my vicinity instantly became enraptured with the nearest blackboard/screensaver/office memo to them. I could literally see their ears prick up as their faces grow ever more stoic. The girls collapsed over each other in a fit of giggles and I nervously stuffed the rose and chocolates into my purse. Later alone, after closer inspection, I found something that could be described as underwear. Though I don't know anyone who could call it that in good conscience.

(Side note: Two of these girls were trouble-makers in my class. Completely uninterested in English and resistant to participating in any activities. But having a snarky little brother who stubbornly refused to go along with my ideas has instilled a bossy big sister approach in my response to these students. So I always end up pulling up a chair next to them, pretend to be oblivious to how mortified they are, and start talking to them in English about their hair, boyfriends, eye-lash curlers, why Japanese people like white bread so much or the wierd "English" on their pencil cases. If they aren't going to do the work in class, they have to talk to me in English. After all, it is technically called "English Oral Communication" and they have clearly benefited more from the individual attention. Because after 11 months of this, we've become pretty well aquainted and their English has seriously improved. I haven't let their references to sex, hello kitty sex or obsession with Casey faze me, so they've been going through their mental rolodex for ways to shock me. I am wearily anticipating what they will come up with next.)