At my school, we recently came into the care of a rather dashing PGCE student (who we will shall herein refer to as James). I'm happily married to a lady but even I took a look at him and thought about what he might look like without clothes on. He's classically handsome in a manly way but and Jesus H. Christ, have the ladies I work with caught on to that fact. Even the year 6 girls look at him in a particular way and giggle when he's near. He's a staff-safeguarding nightmare in that he's naive and young and doesn't realise how much the profession he pursues would so easily persecute him for simply being male should he step over one of the many, very blurry lines.
I'm the only bloke in my school - a primary school which is in its self the most interesting thing in the area it serves. The women of the workforce are mostly old-school: they bake and attend coffee mornings; some still go to church; they all love a good, rapey drama on the BBC. You know the type. The addition of James to the staff has sent them all loopy; they all make it their business to be in the same room as him. I wouldn't give a damn but he's my student and therefore there always seems to be some moron finding their way into my classroom to smell him, or something. They coo over him at break time, making him tea and coffee and using any opportunity to let their laughter twinkle and rattle at any joke he might make, in the hope that he might abandon his life and take them far away from their ugly husbands.
Sidenote: I understand that jealousy lurks amidst the words of this post. Well, I can clarify that of course I'm jealous - I'm speaking about a younger, more handsome man prowling the savannah where I am king.
The point of my post is not to relieve my jealousy, you understand. I am writing this to make a point about how things would be different if James were a pretty young lady, 22 years of age with an ample chest and long, flowing blonde hair, just beginning her PGCE in another class. I couldn't act like my female colleagues are currently acting. Imagine if I was always lurking around trying to be near a female student-teacher ten years my junior. Just imagine - if I talked across the lunch table about getting her kit off; if I joked about hoping her shower breaks so I can offer her a go in mine; if I openly commented on the shape of her arse - these kinds of acts would find me facing some serious consequences at the behest of the senior leadership team (who also love to comment on James' finer qualities), as well as facing the rejection and disgust of my female colleagues, who I'm sure would feel personally offended on behalf of that 22-year-old blonde student (who I imagine they'd all be rather jealous of too, the hags).
Being a man, especially in a primary school, means that you have to be extremely delicate with your actions and communication if you wish to retain even a strand of your reputation and honour. Being a woman, it seems, holds no such consequence. You just have to have a cackle and be cackled with for that sh*t to slide.
The Fed Up Teacher
I'm on Twitter.
I'm the only bloke in my school - a primary school which is in its self the most interesting thing in the area it serves. The women of the workforce are mostly old-school: they bake and attend coffee mornings; some still go to church; they all love a good, rapey drama on the BBC. You know the type. The addition of James to the staff has sent them all loopy; they all make it their business to be in the same room as him. I wouldn't give a damn but he's my student and therefore there always seems to be some moron finding their way into my classroom to smell him, or something. They coo over him at break time, making him tea and coffee and using any opportunity to let their laughter twinkle and rattle at any joke he might make, in the hope that he might abandon his life and take them far away from their ugly husbands.
Sidenote: I understand that jealousy lurks amidst the words of this post. Well, I can clarify that of course I'm jealous - I'm speaking about a younger, more handsome man prowling the savannah where I am king.
The point of my post is not to relieve my jealousy, you understand. I am writing this to make a point about how things would be different if James were a pretty young lady, 22 years of age with an ample chest and long, flowing blonde hair, just beginning her PGCE in another class. I couldn't act like my female colleagues are currently acting. Imagine if I was always lurking around trying to be near a female student-teacher ten years my junior. Just imagine - if I talked across the lunch table about getting her kit off; if I joked about hoping her shower breaks so I can offer her a go in mine; if I openly commented on the shape of her arse - these kinds of acts would find me facing some serious consequences at the behest of the senior leadership team (who also love to comment on James' finer qualities), as well as facing the rejection and disgust of my female colleagues, who I'm sure would feel personally offended on behalf of that 22-year-old blonde student (who I imagine they'd all be rather jealous of too, the hags).
Being a man, especially in a primary school, means that you have to be extremely delicate with your actions and communication if you wish to retain even a strand of your reputation and honour. Being a woman, it seems, holds no such consequence. You just have to have a cackle and be cackled with for that sh*t to slide.
The Fed Up Teacher
I'm on Twitter.
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