My three-hour classes are usually interspersed with short quizzes, some bookwork, some discussion, some lectures, and the occasional lengthy test. Some days we have more of one thing than of another, and some days one of those will dominate. Today was a mix. You know, like a good music mix. (Get over to Patriside’s and sign up, by the way.)

I love mixes. A good mix gives me hours of pleasure. Mixes made by someone else are awesome, too. I have discovered some fantastic music that’s now among my personal favorites on someone else’s mix. I might not become a fan of every song, but there is always something. I’ve loved every mix I’ve ever gotten from Jim’s MixMania.

A class is like that, too. I didn’t make the mix myself, so there will always be some components that I like more than others; still, the whole is enjoyable.

Most of the mix was good. I like my classes and I can’t help but love my students. They try so hard, and they are willing to put themselves out on a limb when they don’t know something; in other words, they guess a lot. But really, what’s wrong with that? Isn’t guessing better than giving up right away?

To quote Frank Scully: “Why not go out on a limb? Isn’t that where the fruit is?”

I don’t mind guessing. I encourage it. Good guessers put things together. Good guessers try to ‘connect.’ Good guessers associate something that is unfamiliar with something they know about. Sometimes the connections are ludicrous, but it can’t be denied that a connection or association was made, even when it’s not the one I was looking for. Who’s to say that the student’s association isn’t as good as mine?

Well, sometimes it’s just. . . bizarre.

Yesterday, it was the Pentagon and the Eiffel Tower. Today it was Lady Godiva.

Not the chocolates. The naked woman on the horse. (Blogger asks that you try to imagine this, as it refuses to post an actual picture AGAIN.)

Not one student in the class had ever heard of Lady Godiva, but when they heard the story they were interested. What college student wouldn’t be interested in public nudity? However, when it came time to talk about idioms and make an association, the mix turned sour. After the quizzes were turned in, and the students were on their short break, I read over their answers and all the hair on the back of my neck stood straight out.

It was so awful, in fact, that I couldn’t take it alone. Not many people were online at that time but one of my friends thankfully was. I IM’d him some of the answers. He was supportingly appalled.

I can’t remember now exactly how the question was phrased, but I’ll make a stab at it.

“A man named Tom defied the request to stay behind closed doors, and peeped at Lady Godiva as she rode through town. Tom was instantly blinded for peeping. Tom’s action gave us an idiom that is still used today. What do we now call a person, like Tom, who peeps through windows, uninvited?”

Answers: Tom-catting; The Peeper, Stalker, Snooping Susie, “that guy from the Sandler flick who fell out of the tree and went to hell,” and Dode Mockey.

By this time, I was feeling faint, so I looked online again and found someone else to tell.

I felt better, knowing that two other people were appalled. I hate to be appalled alone.

And now you’re appalled, too.

After class, I ran to the restroom (hey, two giant Diet Cokes in three hours!) and when I looked in the mirror I was appalled again. I mean, besides the usual reason. The butterfly in the middle of my bra was shining through my peach shirt. Think of Clark Kent with the Superman insignia on his chest as he rips off his disguise. (Blogger asks that you try to picture this, also, as it’s still refusing to post a picture.)

I ran back to the classroom to gather my stuff. It was then that I noticed that I was wearing one black and one navy stocking.

The really bad part is that two weeks ago I did the same thing. Apparently, I have two identical pairs of stockings, both mismatched. If only there were some way to alleviate this problem. . . . .

I’m not going to tell you about my car keys that have been missing for over two months, or the car charger for my cell phone that walked away and hid. You might think I’m pre-Alzheimer’s or something.

What were we talking about? Oh yes. That guy from the Sandler film who fell out of the tree and went to Hell.

Darn it, now I’m craving fresh pineapple.