Sometimes, having a father who once collected (his own) belly button lint on a strip of tape gets to you. Sometimes, having a brother who pinned you on your stomach and (using a Sharpie) drew an inappropriate picture on your back gets to you. Sometimes, having a husband who finds perversion in nearly everything gets to you. Sometimes, teaching fifteen-year-old boys who draw male genitalia on their classmates' folders gets to you.
It got to me.
My intern wanted to rearrange desks. The shape of the table arrangements seemed to escape everyone's notice but my own (unless, of course, my brother were there with me).
Most of this cartoon speaks for itself. (Do not hate on my lack of cartooning abilities. I needed a visual without taking a picture of my classroom.)
As far as I'm concerned, five wooden (pun intended) table arrangements in the shape of weenies are now pointing at me every day.
Of course, I distract myself by saying that our teacher table in the middle is the sun and all of the table arrangements are its rays of light. I have to at least pretend that my mind has not stooped to such a level of perversion. I'm not kidding anyone.