School daze

Yesterday I had my first offical day at massage therapy school. I can sum up my experience in one word: nipples.

It was freezing in our class room and the teacher was nipped the whole time. Let me repeat that, the WHOLE time. I mean, eventually the body should adjust to the temperature and turn off the headlights, right?

This poor woman must have rubbed those nipples half off rubbing against her bra all day.

While that was distracting, I couldn't help noticing the girl in front of me who had boys underwear on. How do I know? Her baggy pants were half falling off all day. Everytime she went out to smoke, she had to pull them on again. There they were, boys underwear -- wide waist band, grey, standard guy undies issue.

Overall, I was by far one of the most professional people in the room. I say this with no pressumption of self-worth or superior attitude. It just is. Ninety-five percent of the students were right out of school -- high school. The rest were blue collar looking for a better chance to make a living.

When we gave our "who we are, and why we're here" speech, a cheerful blonde in a hoodie replied, "it's the one closest to my house."

My favorite moment was when the one (1) guy in our class annouced that he was pretty much mediocre at everything, but he thought he could still have an okay business even as a mediocre therapist.

The mommy in me wanted to stand up, hug him and tell him, "everybody is good at something, poor baby!"

I refrained.

The nipples, on the other hand, I couldn't keep my eyes off. I hope nipple staring doesn't affect my grade.