Holy Hose!

Friday and the dreaded Hispanic Cultures tutorial.
I reluctantly drag myself into these end of week classes purely to avail of the 10% 'attendance' mark that's attributable to the overall module grade.
UCD attaches this scoring opportunity to all of its first year modules.
It's a ploy to ensure students turn up.
And it's a no-brainer.
You don't even have to say anything.
Apart from 'here!' in response to the calling of your name, of course.
10% for merely showing your face!
So it is really quite amazing that many students still choose to abstain.
'Wing Man' didn't even have the common sense to 'wing' this easy part of the equation, whatever about the remaining 90%.
'Lady Marmalade', on the other hand - though she has failed to turn up to anything else, or make any kind of valuable contribution to our group projects, for that matter - can be relied upon to attend this tutorial, in all her tangerine glory.
She's not as stupid as she looks.
Though admittedly it's a close call.

As I walk into the room, I get a double shock.
Maisie is already seated in one of the rather uncomfortable bucket chairs that form the standard furniture in the tutor rooms.
The ones with the highly impractical mini-desk bolted on to one side that merely serves to make them extremely unstable.
And she is bloody well crocheting!
I am astounded by her lack of cogniscance of just how disrespectful she appears.
It's not that the act of crocheting in itself is disrespectful.
Dull, decidedly.
But not impolite per se.
Rather it's the context of the deed that sends out the wrong messages.
Does it say, 'I'm enthralled by everything you have to say, Mr. Tutor'?
Hardly.
You can catch my ire.
But this is not the primary cause of my loss of speech.

Maisie has taken an ill-advised leap back out of her comfort zone.
The very short shorts have resurfaced.
Along with a pair of tights much scarier than the last.
I'm not sure how to describe them, but there's slightly more leg-flesh on show than is being covered by the fabric.
Lacy?
Not quite.
They look suspiciously like she may have crocheted them overnight.
While drunk.
And dabbling with LSD.
It's as though she's attempted to escape from Spiderman only to be foiled by his hastily-spun and speedily-flung webby leg-lasso.
Quite the trip.
And the manner in which the crochet sits in her lap makes me wonder if there's an ongoing project taking place beneath the skimpy swatch of denim masquerading as an item of clothing.
By the time the tutorial is at an end she may have woven a complete comic-book-baddie body suit.

She could call herself 'Yarn the Yawn'.
I can see her now...
Threatening to over-throw the metropolis with an enormous throw-over.
Mmm...I concede the idea needs some work.

©Alacoque Doyle