Free Aunt Erma's Cope Book by Erma Bombeck Page A

just keep your head down and we'll try to undo any message our bodies sent.”
    A shadow crossed the table and kept going.
    Mayva looked at me with disgust. “I just read the body of the man that passed us. It said 'Don't get too choked up. I'm going to the men's room.'”
    Mayva could really get on your nerves and despite what she thought I still believed knowing Body English was a real plus. Especially the part devoted to the Body English of teachers. Boy, did I need that. With two children still left in high school I had to admit I was lost without an interpreter.
    I didn't know what had happened to education, but within the past several years it was getting tougher and tougher to speak the language.
    It was simple back in the days when teachers spoke in polite language. I didn't need an interpreter to know that when Miss Meeks said, “Bruce's personal habits have shown marked improvement” she really was saying, “He no longer wets himself every -day now that he has discovered the bathroom walls.”
    Or “I personally hope that your son develops more self-confidence” meant he copied on every test. I knew when she duly reported, “His paper on irrigation among the Barbizon tribe was far above that expected from a fourth-grader” it translated to “How long did it take you to write it?”
    But in recent years I couldn't make head or tail of what they were saying. In fact, last year's conference had been a nightmare.
    When I was seated at the desk, Mrs. Vucci polished her glasses and said, “Well, let's see here what we have in the way of comments from Bruce's other teachers. According to this report, Coach Weems says he has potential but is incapable of any viable feedback. That tells us, of course, that we have a child who does not relate to social interreaction.”
    I nodded numbly.
    "Mrs. Wormstad says he is not motivated by curriculum innovation and they don't want him to stagnate in a lockup system and they're trying to stimulate his awareness. Mrs. Rensler writes he is having behavior modification problems and they're putting him in a modular-flexible schedule. Let's hope it works.
    “I personally feel we have to consider the conundrum. But seriously,” she said, “it's hard to say where the burden for apathy lies, but before his achievement levels polarize, we'll counsel Bruce so he can realize his potential and aim for some tangible goals.”
    I had not understood one single word she had said.
    “Do you have any questions?” she asked, noting my silence.
    I shook my head. She wouldn't have understood the questions and I wouldn't have understood the answers. What a pair.
    With Body English I might at least stand a chance. Another teacher conference was coming up in a couple of weeks and I wanted to be ready for it.
    My appointment was for seven-thirty and I was early. As I poked my head around the corner of the room, Mrs. Lutz said without looking up from her desk, “I know. We all dread these sessions, don't we?”
    “How can you tell that?” I smiled.
    “Your reticence to appear fully in the doorway instead of inching your way into the room.”
    I sat down on the edge of the chair. She looked over her half-glasses and said, “There is no need to be uptight. Just sit back and relax.”
    “I am relaxed,” I said quickly.
    “No one is relaxed sitting on the edge of the chair. And stop worrying, it's not that bad.”
    “I don't think it's bad.”
    “Of course you do,” she corrected. “I can tell by the way your feet are coiled around the chair legs.”
    This wasn't working at all. She wasn't supposed to be reading my body. I was supposed to be reading hers."
    But I couldn't help it. The more she talked, the harder time I had to keep my body from talking. When she brought out his essay on “The Anatomy of a Belch” I sank into a fetal position and lowered my head.
    When she told me he not only parked his car illegally in front of the school but told the security people he thought they had