In Which our Protagonist References A Hit Single by Journey
The title of this entry really ought to read, "In Which our Protagonist Falls to Her Knees in Self-Flagellation and Gratitude," but I can't resist using the Journey reference, and to include both would make the title go onto the next line. I'm a smidge too neurotic for that.
When I walked into my meeting with the first of my two cooperating teachers this afternoon, I was not in good spirits. Aside from being highly anxious due to the less-than-stellar phone "conversation" I had with her last week, it was approaching 80 degrees, and I was in a fucking blazer. A fucking lined blazer. And a pair of strappy, irritating sandals that were slicing fine red lines into my sweaty feet with every step. Oh, Ms. Frazzled; you and your fashion faux pas, I thought. If she doesn't hate you for calling her last week, she's certainly going to think you a little odd in this get-up. And what's with the purse? Totally doesn't match. And still, I pressed on.
And when I saw her sitting at her desk in her spacious, bright classroom, immediately I heard bars from "Don't Stop Believing" by - yes, you guessed it; look at how smart you are! - Journey begin playing in my head. Don't ask me why, but for some reason, that song is my "love at first sight" anthem. I have no idea from where this association arises; I only know that it exists, and that it is generally a superb sign. Like a vision, there she was, with a messy blonde ponytail, cute little scholarly glasses, a white t-shirt, khaki capris, and - here's where it gets good - white socks and pink sneakers. She was wearing pink sneakers. Her sneakers matched my shirt. She had me at the pink sneakers.
When she smiled and began using phrases I recognized, like "classroom community building," "guided reading groups," "writing workshop," and "DEAR time," all of my fear melted into a puddle and joined the sweat at my uncomfortable, but sexily-sandaled, feet. Ha.
Dear readers, I could see myself very easily developing a crush on Ms. Sneakers, as she will be known from here on. I shan't permit myself this indulgence, however, for obvious reasons, not the least of which is the fact that she's close to forty and married. However, I am comforted by this. She is not, indeed, anything resembling the Hitler of elementary school teachers, and I think that she might turn out to be okay, after all. The veracity of this statement does remain to be seen, but so far, I shall say, so good.
Tomorrow, I meet in person with the cooperating teacher for my second seven-week session. She and I have spoken twice on the phone, and I already possess nothing but good feelings for her. I'm actually looking forward to seeing her. That is, of couse, assuming I can find the school.