Picture this:

Halloween party. Myself, a multitude of friends, including those I have yet to meet. Keg out back, tequila (lime and salt included) standing guard in the kitchen. Jolly good times all around.

Now enter into this picture another, as to yet unrelated, image: that of my boss, the head of the English Department at the high school I am currently student teaching at. Blonde hair, pretty, composed and FIFTY THREE YEARS OLD.

Now slingshot one directly into the other-- WHAM! BAMB! CRASH! KABOOOOOMMMM!

Get the picture?

Oh, and did I mention the fact that I just happened to be decked out in full skankorific regalia as only Halloween could properly condone? [Sexy mental patient = the perfect opportunity to be skanky AND demented at the same time!!!! perfection!]

Needless to say, you can surely imagine the "worlds crashing" sound effects that rang in my ears when Ms. X walked in the door to the aforementioned KEG PARTY. To be more specific, I ran. No, seriously. I ran out of the house, covering my eyes until I reached a deceivingly safe Rhododendron out back. Perhaps if I just shut my eyes tight enough and squated in the dirt long enough, this would not be happening?? Surely the embarrassement and HORROR of the current situation would soon pass away into a tequila-induced blur?

After several minutes of seriously contemplating my options [the strange looks I was receiving continued to convince me that I was not quite as undetectable as I once believed] and surveying my surroundings, I came to the harsh yet irrevokable decision that I must, indeed, face my fear, [wo]mano a [wo]mano.

Flash ahead, one hour. Ms. X and myself, raising our filled to the brim shot glasses into the air and triumphantly sending out a toast to the noble teaching profession. Lick, drink, suck.
Seal with a mid-air high five and you have yourself one mighty fine evening.
CHEERS!