Last week, I met one of my daughter's 'resource' teachers at the Q1 Report Card Pick Up. She has straight A's, so technically, all we needed to do was grab her report card and rush back to the car. But not when the husband is present: as a teacher, he wants to talk teacher with other teachers. He'll deny this and say he wants to talk to teachers so he can hear what they have to say about our daughter, but I can tell by the way he tilts his head and gives his meaningful nods with deliberate pauses before he poses his questions that he really just wants to talk shop with those of his ilk.
Anyway, I was chatting with another mother in the hallway when it was our turn to meet the resource teacher. Husband went in ahead of me, and within 45 seconds I had finished my conversation and was running into the room and jumping into the chair next to him and across from the resource teacher: "I'm with him," I said, as I pointed to my husband.
Mr. Resource Teacher started to laugh at my abrupt entrance and I suddenly realized that Mr. Resource Teacher was kind of smokin' hot. Then Mr. Resource Teacher spoke: he had a voice that wasn't quite as deep as Barry White's voice, but it was pretty deep. Really, pretty, very deep.
Let me back up for one second: For several years, I've drug my ass all over that school as a parent, as a PTA board member and as a volunteer in nothing less than 4" heels. No matter what the event, I was dressed up and 4 to 5 inches taller than I actually am. But on this particular night, I realized there would be a good deal of stairs involved, so stilettos seemed stupid. And if you're not going to put on awesome shoes, why bother showering?
So, I find myself in front of Mr. Resource Teacher without makeup and with hair that may or may have not been a tad bit greasy. I'm wearing a racing shirt from a race I did not run, jeans and sneakers. On any other occasion, his hotness would not have shaken me, but today, he's got the upper hand and because of this, I turned into a giant pile of babbling, snorting, jittery weirdness. I don't know what was coming out of my mouth. I don't know why I wouldn't stop talking. I may have put on a little shadow puppet skit for him. I don't know -- I was a mess. One very un-hot, dirty mess.
The meeting over, we shook Mr. Resource Teacher's hand and made our way to the stairwell. The husband wanted to walk down the stairs, but I thought the best thing for me would be to jump headfirst from the balcony: it would be the proper way to end my smashing debut with Mr. Resource Teacher. As we were moving towards the ground level, the husband looks at me and says, "I like him."
"Yeah," I responded. "Me too."
But here's where it gets funny. I wasn't the only mom with whom Mr. Resource Teacher left a more-than-favorable impression. Seems like every pre-menopausal mother in that school must have stopped by his classroom to look at him. I mean, talk to him. We all had different experiences of course. Some have suggested that there was a wind machine in the room, causing his dark, wavy hair to occasionally fall across his dark, dark eyes. Some claim he was shirtless, and glistening, and doing some simple, slow arm curls when they arrived. One mother thought she heard him offer her a martini while he turned down the volume of the smooth jazz so they could enjoy their conversation.
And all of this makes me laugh. It makes me laugh hard. I didn't know this was going on that night -- it wasn't until the next day when I asked one of my friends if she had met Mr. Resource Teacher and then the flood gates of laughter and embarrassing personal accounts opened up. I can only imagine all of us meeting him one-on-one and feeling overcome with super hot, hotty, hotness.
"Is it hot in here or is it just....oh. Oh. Never mind. It is just me... Silly hormones!"
Should I feel bad about finding Mr. Resource Teacher to be attractive while I'm sitting less than 3 inches away from my husband? Maybe. But I don't. I've watched women flirt with the husband on more than one occasion. And they should flirt with him: Husband is a hottie. Just a few weeks ago, we walked to our neighborhood market and I had to stand next to Husband while the deli girl seduced him with olives and cheeses. Watching Husband suck olives off another woman's fingers is a little humbling.
Let's face it: I can't compete with a younger woman who has access to meat and cheeses.
Also, it is likely that Husband will leave me for the daughter of a deli owner some day.