Keepin' it Real, Creepin' it Real

The 8th graders asked me to chaperone last night's movie party in Madrid. Sarah also got to come because she provided Skittles.

We took them to The Avengers. And before that, we went to Starbucks. And during that, they decided to talk about men.

I have mentioned before that my students like to play matchmaker. I think they mostly like projecting their own romantical feelings onto adults who can actually do something about them, and they want their teachers to be happy. And they don't understand why two people who are completely single can exist in the same place and not want to marry one another! I am aware that the same type of matchmaking discussions have been imposed on at least two other single females at our school; the only single male teacher is blissfully unaware. (Unless he secretly reads this blog, in which case, hi, Mr. H! Awkward!)

So there we were, sucking back glasses of water and frappuccinos, and the boys bring up the subject of the jungle man. Specifically, a rather buff Jason Scott Lee from 1994's live-action The Jungle Book, which, yes, I did record on a VHS from Disney Channel during my late elementary years. Someone had tossed their VHS version on the free table at school, and I, thinking it could be a good tie-in to the Rudyard Kipling we've read this year, snatched it up. I tucked it on the shelf behind my desk. And that's when the 8th graders found it. They decided that I had obtained it not for its literary merit but so that I could keep the case under my pillow at night and wake up to the face of my jungle boyfriend. Like I said, they really want me to be happy.

Over my Starbucks, I denied any affections for the jungle man, which led them back to poor Mr. H, and though I tried to explain that none of us are going to date Mr. H before he departs for the States this summer, they're unconvinced. (If they had been paying any attention at all, they'd know that comments about Thor wouldn't be as easy to deny--but during that point in the show, they were too busy giggling and spilling caramel corn all over the floor.) They spent the rest of the coffee date drinking sugar packets and trying to figure out whether Sarah or I would be a better match for Mr. H.

Today was the school Rastrillo, a school event that branches out into Camarma: carnival games, food, and garage sale rolled up into one big, fun, sweaty pile. Sarah and I were browsing the treasures; we'd just glanced over to see Mr. H picking up a plastic Chewbacca mask. He was removing it when I held up my camera and said, "Wait, put it back on! I'm going to get a picture this time!" He obliged, and I snapped this shot:

So, of course, as I flung the camera strap back across my shoulder, I turned to see my 8th grade boys watching from a few tables away, mouthing words to me.

"What? What's that?" I walked closer.

"You took a picture of him!"

"He was wearing a mask."

"It's love!"

I walked away when they started drawing hearts in the air.