Hard core emo

The email stayed anchored to the lining of my pocket. Today was not the day to send ripples across the bay of learning. The bay was already being battered by a force 9 gale.

By process of elimination I find myself in an Emotional Literacy class. Process of elimination is of course politespeak for 'university cutbacks'. Emotional Literacy, hard core EMO. It is the worst case of the Emperor's clothes I have ever encountered.The last session involved a large sheet of white paper and a crayon with which one mapped out significant events from birth, to date. My piece of paper was acres too small. My life has been a magnificent catalogue of trauma and accidents, adventure and angst. For the other students wet behind the ears from their experiences at school, passing their driving test seemed to be the most onerous task so far.

Getting these young people to engage seems a step too far for the long suffering lecturer. He lost the plot, this man of reason, instructing a particularly irritating teenager, with the most amazing medusa mop and mascara-ed lashes, to 'piss off out of his lesson'. Hard core emo indeed. She was particularly grating, but this episode now completes a run of tantrums from each of my university tutors.

What is happening? Who is to blame, the students suffering from amnesiac blanks of learning, discipline and motivation, or the tutors; overwhelmed by their new roles as babysitters for children entirely unsuited to university life?

And what do I care, tomorrow I see my adonis, the youngest of my harem, and strictly between you and I, my current favourite. We met in the law library, he had just celebrated his 21st birthday, his affrontery won him a date. I asked him whether I was his 'Mrs Robinson fantasy'?
'Who's Mrs Robinson' was his whispered response! Reader I married him...