Teacher crushes. Don't we all have them? If not here at Macalester, then at some point during our high school or middle school days? No? Well, if you have never had one, I suggest you try it. It goes something like this. You have a crush on this certain professor. You're walking down a hallway and you see your teacher sauntering, shuffling or plodding in your direction. They are out of the classroom context. You look up, you look down, you look up again just as they're passing and say, just audibly enough for them to hear, "Hi, Professor Smith," or "Hey Jo" or "Yo Teach." They may even respond and strike up a conversation. And you think this is a memorable moment. Then, you'll shift uneasily and say to them, "See you in class," and then you can't wait to get to class. After too many unsuccessful crushes on Macalester boys, I figured, I might as well start crushing on my teachers.

I have two such teacher crushes this year (and I hope that neither of them read my column this week). Mind you, it's not some intense crazy, psycho crush like Alicia Silverstone had in the movie The Crush. It's merely a bit of infatuation, and the reason it occurs is because you are very aware that your teacher is most likely over 35 or 40 and married. Or, if they are single, you know that it would be pretty sketchy to have an affair with them. Sometimes I imagine spending a romantic evening with them, but I get stuck on the kissing part. I just can't picture gettin' freaky with my profs. The whole age difference throws things a bit off. Running my fingers through my teacher's gray hair? Hmmm … not a turn on. Imagining them naked? I much prefer seeing them clothed, preferably wearing sweaters and showing as little skin as possible. This is not the sort of crush where you catch yourself undressing them in your imagination. I don't have those sorts of fantasies. At least not with my teachers.

One of my unnamed interviewees confessed a secret crush on her high school statistics teacher, Mr. P. While his teaching ability left something to be desired, he captured the hearts of many a young lady. My interviewee almost swooned when she mentioned his name. "Mr. P was like a Renaissance man. He played David Bowie songs on his guitar, did an occasional handstand off a desk, could moonwalk, and loved listening to Science Friday on MPR," she started to tell me. "And he had this sexy shuffle … " Her narration trails off now and there's a far-away look in her eyes. This Mr. P must really have been something special. Perhaps you, gentle reader had a similar experience in high school?

For all who are uninformed, the infamous senior reception is this Friday. I want to know whether or not the professors are invited, but no one seems to know. Many seniors I've talked to agree with me that we'd like more opportunities to drink with our professors. It just seems like a natural thing to do, since we're all adults now. However, it would be strange were the entire Macalester faculty to attend an event also known as "Drink-as-much-as-possible-in-two-hours-because-Macalester-is-picking-up-the-tab." The senior reception, therefore, would be a bit awkward if our profs were witnessing our debauchery, slurred words and blatant flirting (with them). Perhaps another time would be more appropriate to do those sorts of activities, like going to a concert or a play.

Take, for example, my experience abroad in Scotland, where you were bound to run into at least one of your tutors (as we called our professors) in any given night of pub crawling. Fellow senior, Candy (this is not her real name), was also in Scotland with me, and we frequented our student union, also a bar and club, several days of the week. Candy, I should point out, is quite a lush. One night, in particular, we were at the union and along came Gordon, one of her tutors whom we both fancied. He had a bit of a mullet, which we preferred calling a "fashion mullet," because he was a hip guy. That night, his mullet did not deter us from racing over to him and awkwardly starting a conversation. Candy had a habit of grabbing guy's asses when drunk, without getting a good look at them. We liked to call it the "hit and run." It was a test of her will that night not to grab Gordon's ass while schmoozing over pints of cheap lager. So, the point of this story is that it's a bit tricky being drunk in the company of profs you fancy, because you just may "hit and run."

In that case, I hope that the senior reception is devoid of my teacher crushes, so I don't try to hit on any of them. Though, it would make for some interesting stories for the grandkids.

Another unnamed interviewee quickly mentioned to me her experience babysitting for a teacher once. "Hey," she boasted to me one day. "Guess whose house I was in last night?" I was stumped. "Who?" I asked eagerly. She retorted, "Bob's" (again, the name is changed to protect the identity of the hot professor). I was jealous. "Really, Bob?" I said longingly. "Yup, and he drove me home, too." Immediately the danger sign started blinking. We've all read the books and seen the movies where the dad or mom starts having an affair with the babysitter. Bad news. I can assure the reader that no sordid business occurred between my interviewee and Bob. While it's perfectly natural to develop teacher crushes, it's best to merely imagine what could happen.

Disclaimer: The aforementioned Candy and I would like to inform the readers that we are not as dodgy as we are painted in this article. The events mentioned above are neither false, nor true reflections of our dashing characters. But, really, what is the truth?