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My father never met a cliché he didn’t like. One of his favorites was “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” I often wondered if that applied to gift pussy, but the old man never said much about pussy. In fact he said so little about pussy that I also wondered if I was the product of a virgin birth.
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The school-bus-yellow school bus rattled down Meeting House Road with twenty or so prep school students on board. They were escorted by a history teacher with red-orange hair at the wheel, and another teacher, this one with a galloping case of male pattern baldness, who sat amid ship in order to maintain discipline. The side of the bus announced, “Archmere Academy, Claymont, Delaware.”
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Left to my own devices, which is seldom a good idea, I decided to bring Lady Chatterley’s Lover to school to share with my friends. I had read the newly released, previously banned novel one otherwise slow weekend early in my senior year in prep school.
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Brooklyn College Professor of Math Education Laurie Rubel proclaimed on Twitter that the mathematical equation 2+2=4 “reeks of white supremacist patriarchy. The idea that math (or data) is culturally neutral or in any way objective is a MYTH.”
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