Hi. It's me. Kathleen. Well, you'd probably know me as "Kathy" because despite the fact that I was one of your only fifteen students, you never got my name right.
Yeah. I'm not going to lie. I spent most of the semester hating you. I had lots of things to do with my Monday afternoons, and spending three hours every week listening to you talk about Post-Modernism but not really because if your graduate students couldn't understand it- well then! Neither could we!
You struck me as kind of like a perv. The Playboy, the lesbian article with graphic physical descriptions, when you said your five-year-old posed like a pin-up...yeah, weird.
You wore a pair of earrings. That's really weird.
Gradually, I warmed to you. Mostly after you wrote loving comments on my paper.
By the end of the semester, I was crying because the class was over.
(Although to be fair, I was crying about...oh...just about everything that week.)
However. If you continue to withhold our final grades for the class, I will be forced to consider you a mean pervert again.
Honestly, man. It's been two weeks since we turned in the papers. They're only 7-10 pages, hardly being handed a stack of master's theses, and you even got to read them beforehand, so you know what they're about.
Does your partner-of-an-ambiguous-gender really require that much attention that you need more than two weeks to grade FIFTEEN papers?
So. You're on notice.
Love,
Kathleen (Not. Kathy.)
2 comments:
you go girl!!!!!!
So kind of you to put him on notice...most people do not get that chance!! Maybe he will find this blog and be motivated to post those grades...or maybe he will find this blog and you will find yourself with a C- because he did not enjoy reading about your opinion of him:) {Remember what Rembert's mother said about putting things in writing:)}
Post a Comment