If you enjoyed the cartoon post from yesterday, I’d just like to take a moment to address it’s problematic subtext: children who are clearly virgins claiming special knowledge of what women say before, during or after sex. First, if I may digress, I’ve had just this sequence of events occur many times–minus the overt “f you” that would lose me my job, of course. This clever expression–that’s what she said– is endlessly amusing to the thirteen-year-old Beavis who will not have consensual sex for at least another fifteen years.
My debate class created a code for it that had me briefly confounded. They would tap–no pun intended– twice on their desk top to signal the alert a “that’s what she said” moment had just occured. In short, I would make some aggressive comment about verbal entrapment on the current debate topic that might resemble something a particularly randy female might cry out during the throes of pleasure, someone would tap twice, and the class would giggle. Try keeeping class on track with that crap going on! Hell, try keeping a train of thought moving down the track at all. Derail. Fail.
While I’m glad Western culture has moved beyond the blistering of behinds or the ruler on the knuckles incentives for repressing human sexuality, I’m pretty sure I don’t want a constant feed on what adolescent males imagine women say or want in bed. In fact, the more I know about adolescent sexuality, the less I want to know. Apparently there were solid reasons for why our elders rapped our noggins for inappropriate expression of id desires. Who da hell wants to enter that twisted adolescent reality?
It is especially twisted when one is sitting in a classroom with a pregnant fifteen-year-old, and some nasty little masturbatory creep with braces starts working the ‘that’s what she said” trope.
When it finally becomes all-too-evident that young Frank and his virgin-assed sexual fantasies needs to just get da hell out of your class, you are faced with the grim prospect of writing up the office referral report. “I said, ‘Get that out.’ He said, ‘That’s what she said.'” Roiling in the back of one’s mind is the crude outburst that would surely land you on unemployment. “Look you little f, your nasty little mac and cheese engulfed braces aren’t going anywhere near a woman for a long, long time, much less in or out of any part of the female anatomy.” Moreover, I don’t even want to know about the sexuality of the guy who impregnated the little sugar who is crammed into the desk designed for the non-obese and non-pregnant American student population. All I know is that he’s an older dropout with a warrant out for his arrest. So there. Look kid, you don’t have the dangerous elan required to get into a girl’s K-Mart Mily Cyrus panties. You’re just annoying.