Reason 230

Schmutz. A few weeks ago when school was still in session I found myself shoveling a lunch of beef and vegetable stir-fry into my mouth in a very un-ladylike fashion. Why such the hurry? After the walk to and from my classroom, a stop at the staff restroom, and the time it takes to reheat whatever leftovers I've brought, I get maybe a scant seventeen minutes to enjoy my midday meal. On this particular day I was also meeting with fifteen or so unruly 6th graders to rehearse for the impending flash mob, so time was definitely at a premium. I was able to nourish myself thoroughly and practice some smooth dance moves before the bell rang for 4th period, though, so all was well in my little world - or so I thought. Most teachers at my school have a period called C&P where they are free from the shackles of actually teaching youth and can roam about the building harassing colleagues, napping at their desks, and sorting through all of the worthless fliers and catalogues that accumulate in their box. This free period is also the perfect time for teachers like me who work in portable classrooms in the hinterlands to take advantage of the school's luxurious powder rooms. It was during this bathroom break that I noticed a rather large piece of cooked beef wedged between my front teeth. Apparently, I had spent the past hour speaking to small children within a few inches of their eyeballs and none of them had the gumption to tell me a small cow was protruding from my mouth. I guess twelve year-olds aren't known for their tact (or their keen observational skills). I, on the other hand, have practically elevated the practice of telling people they have food in their teeth, foreign objects hanging from their nose, and schmutz on their face to an art. Jason, when we dine together you can confidently nosh on all kinds of stringy and seed-bearing foods, assured I will nudge you toward the nearest mirror if a particle or two happens to get stuck in your choppers. If a smudge of choclate or dirt (or, god forbid, other brown matter) has found safe haven on your lovely face, I will, as unsanitary as it may be, invoke the spirit of every deceased Jewish grandmother, lick my finger, and rub that smudge right off. I take my role as friend very seriously, even if it means I have to appear slightly deranged when I beg a restaurant's hostess for a handful of toothpicks and some wet-naps. As long as I'm around, paparazzi will never snap a picture of you with a giant booger hanging from your schnoz. Rest assured, Jason, you are in good, albeit somewhat saliva-covered, hands when I'm on the scene.