O, the moral depths that a woman will plunder when she’s desperate for money (*): this morning’s tutoring session covered the topic of How to Use Your Fucking Graphing Calculatorto Find the Roots of a Goddamned Quadratic, For Crying Out Loud. And I taught it.
Without snark, flailing of arms, or even a modicum of political commentary. And, so help me God, I even acted – convincingly, I think – as if I enjoyed it. I take some measure of comfort in the knowledge that my tutee will probably forget this lesson, along with all others, the minute he finishes writing his provincials (if not before), but still. They don’t make soap strong enough.
You won’t think less of me for this, will you?
(*) Not the case here; my savings will cover groceries and rent. Today’s spoils will finance a meal or two of Dim Sum at the Buddhist restaurant, which I think lies somewhere between Love and Esteem on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. I guess this makes me even more of a skank.