Thus, haphazardly, you snap your head in my direction and flog your hair strands into my vacant, uncooperative face. ‘Oh, stop it!’ I open my eyes...and mutter lightly, attempting to be gentle with my rejection. Faintly I’m grumbling beneath my voice and complaining of exhaustion: my fuel cells are low and shoddy, and I just want to recharge myself by sleeping. And after considering my condition here–that is, if I were to first describe the way I’m feeling, I’d say I feel like a mummy, wound up. Jones would often sit on it when she was teaching.) that she always sits in front of you?” I shook my head no. She then continued by saying, “You mean, with those semi-short skirts she wears, hiked up enough so her panties can easily be seen when she sits on that table, you didn’t notice?” I replied, “No, I didn’t.” She then said, “Well you better start noticing because she is showing you what she has to offer,” and then she laughed saying, “I just love you, Rube”. A little about Mrs. Jones:. More

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