Educational Experience

Chapter Sixteen

16.

So, here’s the trouble with me and romantic relationships. Picture this:

The next morning, all three girls leapt into my bed wearing the tiny little thongs and t shirts they sleep in. Aisha laid down right on top of me and the other two cuddled up looking all sleepy and sexy as hell.

Every man’s fantasy. Or most men, anyway. And even though I’m almost not even turned on by it anymore, it’s going to take a lot for some new woman to get past that, right?

But the girls apparently thought I’d found a contender. Because Mike raised up on her elbow, gave me this little look and said, “So where’s Teacher Lady?”

“Get real,” I said. It was the best I could do. We’d only had, like, four hours of sleep.

“Looks real enough to me,” Cat said.

“She pretty, too,” Aisha informed me—very serious. All into it.

“For a woman her age, she’s damned good looking,” Mike agreed.

“What’s this ‘woman her age’ business?” I asked.

“Well, she’s no spring chicken,” Cat said, giving me one of her looks, too.

“What does that even mean? Why do people always say that—what the fuck is a spring chicken?”

“I’m a spring chicken,” Mike said, sort of shimmying her shoulders.

“Girl, you ain’t all that young no more, either,” Aisha told her. “Don’t kid yo’ self.”

“She’s old enough to know better,” I said.

“Better than what?” Cat asked. She was really determined to draw me out on this.

I realized, in fact, that they’d probably planned this attack. They’re always plotting something. It’s like having three mothers or a bunch of nosey aunts always hatching little schemes behind your back. I mean, I love them and the attention, but a guy has to be on his game 24/7 with these women. With all women, really.

They’re a step ahead all the time—their brains are actually wired different. Did you know that? You show or ask them something, all these extra areas of their brains light up. You show or ask us something, only the part that deals directly with the object or topic goes on.

No lie—it’s science. And I’m studying this. I even try to think of all the different little scenarios they might be working with. But I’m a guy. A really young guy, too—it’s tough.

So I knew I had to choose my words carefully to nip this one in the bud—or to keep them at bay while I worked it my way.

“Better than to get involved,” I said.

“With?”

“Me! Us! You know what I mean.”

“Why she can’t?” Aisha asked, as if I’d insulted us or something.

“Because she wants to keep being a teacher,” I told her. Firmly.

And I have to say that hearing all this sort of made me understand why she’d said she didn’t want to be “that” teacher—it made me uneasy, when we actually started to talk about it. I didn’t like that I was buying into old stereotypes, but my knee jerk reaction was a little reality break.