Entering the Navel, California auditorium, one could immediately sense the tension in the throng of parents and teachers gathered to solve the age-old question in sex education standards: bananas or cucumbers? Nearly three hundred parents turned out to express their concerns over a matter that had the potential to shape K-12 education and their children’s futures. I took my seat twelve rows back, next to a slightly attractive lady whom I had the pleasure to speak with on this crucial issue.
While the teachers and administrators gathered the equipment for a demonstration, I interviewed Ms. Barbara Stanislowsky (unfortunately now, litigant A, but we’ll get to that later). Her perfume was heady and overpowering; a soft scent of vanilla with a touch of honey and musk. Her curly red hair draped onto her shoulders and bounced with supernatural verve. Crossing her lovely lithe legs, adorned in naked sheen hosiery, she turned to face me. A bright carnelian line encircled lips that were full and pouty. Golden auburn eyes, deep and somber as two snifters of cognac, glowed in response.
“So, you’re a reporter?” she inquired. Instantly, I was putty in her hands. Fumbling for a silver pen, I scrambled to put words to paper.
“Why, yes,” I stammered, “My name is Michael Tyrone, and I am a reporter for several newspapers. What brings you to the PTA today?”
“My daughter Sierra will be a freshman in high school next year and I came to see what they will be teaching my little girl.”
She smiled rosily and gazed at my hands, nervously scribbling to take in every word. I pulled my clipboard up over my slacks and crossed my legs. Her soothing voice stirred in me an electric excitement that I hadn’t felt since high school.
“Five minutes until the Parent-Teacher conference begins,” a female voice announced over loud speakers.
“Um, it appears that the subject of the conference will be,” I said as my voice suddenly went faint, “Sexual education.”
“Yes!” she said with a charming laugh. She smoothed her skirt with both hands. Amazingly, her clothes had somehow seemed to get tighter.
“What, what do you think of the proposed amendment?” I asked, stuttering as I always do when I get nervous. “Where do you come down on the bananas or cucumbers divide?”
She seemed not to understand my question. “Bananas or cucumbers?” she replied, her eyes apparently oblivious to what I was driving at.
Sweating now, I pulled at my collar and wiped a bead from my forehead. “Uh, yes. The teachers are proposing to use cucumbers to demonstrate how to use…” my voice fell to a whisper. “Condoms.”
“Condoms?” she asked quizzically.
“Right,” I answered, not believing I had to explain this to such a beautiful woman whom I had just met. “When they unwrap the condoms,” I lifted my hands up to demonstrate and immediately put them away, “you need something to represent a, umm…”
“Penis?” she asked with a laugh.
“Uh, yeah…that.” I swallowed deep and could feel my pulse racing.
“Oh, I’m definitely a banana gal,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Sure,” I leaked out, and jotted down her answer.
“We are about to begin the parent teacher conference,” a woman grasping a microphone announced, “Please put away all cellphones and videorecording equipment out of courtesy to the speakers and those in the audience.”
“My name is Lisa Dante,” a tall blonde lady with glasses stood up and said with authority. “I am the school superintendent. We are here to demonstrate what we will be teaching your young ones when it comes to condom use. We would like your input regarding whether or not to use bananas or cucumbers.”
A lady in the first row sprang up. “I thought we were here to discuss the school’s plummeting math scores. You know that we are last in…”
“I’m sorry,” Ms. Dante interjected, “I’m sorry, we have to have priorities. Please take your seat, mam, so we can proceed.”
Ms. Dante walked over to a table laden with bananas, condoms, and confusingly, even squashes and eggplants.
“As you can see,” she said, “Large squashes, eggplants, and most gourds are generally inappropriate for the task at hand.” She held up an unwrapped condom and brought it against a rotund squash to demonstrate. “But cucumbers, spaghetti squashes, and bananas are workable.”
“I thought we were going to discuss this year’s science fair!” an angry parent yelled.
“No, I’m sorry, lady. We may be covering that next month, unless the banana-cucumber conundrum is still unresolved. So with no further adieu…”
“When is the library going to be expanded?” another voice streamed in from behind me. “We have been waiting for years…”
“We have a limited budget here, sir,” Ms. Dante responded tersely. “The sex education equipment isn’t going to pay for itself. May we get on with the demonstration?”
I was eager to see the woman manipulate the vegetables again. I gazed down at Ms. Stansilovsky’s legs, innocently, out of the corner of my eyes. But she thought I was staring.
“Hey!” she yelled abruptly. “Keep your eyes to yourself! I’m not a piece of meat!”
Caught with my pants down, as it were, I had no response. Ms. Stanislovsky stood up in outrage and cast a condemning finger down at me. I shrunk down in my chair.
“This man is a pervert!” She yelled and stormed out. “See you in court!”
And with that, the middle-aged brunette lady to my left, who was wearing a revealing red silk blouse, shot up and yelled, “I saw you staring at my breasts! You better call a lawyer, pal!”
Feeling as small as can be, I slithered out of the auditorium, past the scowling parents, in front of the dumbfounded teachers, and all the way down the aisle towards the exits. It turns out the bananas or condom controversy is as yet unresolved, as is the matter of funding full-sized inflatable sex dolls and soft pornography for “research purposes.”
Due to legal concerns, my editor has re-assigned me to cover a safer topic. Next month I will be reporting on the drug habits of hookers in the San Fernando Valley; that is, if I am not in court facing a slew of sexual harassment charges.
The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.
Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.