Picture it. San Diego. 2001. I was a 22-year old, first year teacher who was considerably younger, hotter, more fun, and with decidedly less baby protruding from her abdomen. Back in those days, I would wear what I fondly referred to as an “armor bra” as a precautionary measure to ensure no unsightliness for my students (particularly the male ones) in the event of a sudden and unfortunate cold front in my classroom. Said armor, while effective, had a side-effect of eliminating any bit of sensation that I could experience on my chest because the fabric was so thick.

So one day my kids are working in small groups, in clusters of 4 desks. I was standing next to one male student while talking to another in the next book. The second student leaned out of his desk to hand me a book, for which I leaned over the first student. Apparently I leaned a little too far over that first student’s back. And APPARENTLY the loss of sensation was more than I’d considered because it turns out I was literally laying across this first student’s back…at which point he says to me, (conveniently at the exact moment that all of the other groups were in quiet mode) “Miss Quinn (my maiden name). YOUR BOOBIES ARE TOUCHING ME.” Naturally. It should be noted that the speaker was gay, so he wasn’t too concerned with the boobies.

But the faces of the other boys in the room SNAPPED to attention faster than any disciplinary tactic I ever used. I. Was. Mortified.

I’m loving walking down memory lane with you, Amy.

xo