My favorite teacher

So whenever I go to there always seems to be the following ad staring me in the face:

Now, here are the things:

A. Any true teacher wouldn’t pose for a singles ad with a facial look that says, uh, well, “f— me.” (Writer’s Note: I am not saying this look actually/literally says, “f— me.” What I am saying is that the exclusively male editors of Maxim have designed a look that women are supposed to use that says “f— me.” Oddly, it’s very similar to the look that says, “F—, I have to go to the bathroom and the one upstairs is really nasty but I’m gonna be at this lame-ass party for another four hours, so, maybe I’ll just go outside and squat behind a tree.”)
B. Any true teacher wouldn’t pose for a single ad wearing that.
C. Any true teacher wouldn’t look like that to begin with.
By that, I don’t mean like an Aguilera/hooker wanna-be. I mean, well, I look back at the teachers I had throughout the years, and they were all wrinkly and conservatively dressed; sort of like Ward’s wife, minus the girdle. I think of my wonderful fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Hart, who wore her brownish-gray hair in a bun and waddled around like Danny DeVito’s portrayal of “The Penguin.” (Sad sidenote: Mrs. Hart died when she fell asleep on her couch while smoking a cigarette. True story).

Hey, as a kid I loved Van Halen’s “Hot For Teacher” video as much as the next 12-year old Mahopacian. But reality ain’t Van Halen. It’s doo-wop night at the Heritage Hills Senior Center.