I was sitting at my desk. A student, notorious for plain-jane and sweat pants, came up and asked to go to the nurse. One of the other students, very loud-mouthed and often disrespectful of authority, screamed laughter at me, trying to get PlainJane SweatPants to tell me why she needed to desperately go to the nurse.
"I have a headache," she said.
And the not-so-epic unfolded with a buttcrack. Apparently, the buttcrack was just too much, and this person's buttcrack is always showing and growing and pushing upward, climbing up her back, causing great eclipses of thought. For PlainJane SweatPants, it detonated a giant gag-fest, a gag-fest so horrid that it gave her a headache.
"You can't go to the nurse unless you have something on file from your parents that will allow you to take asprin," I said.
"I have something on file," she said, rubbing her temples. At this point, everyone was crowded around PlainJane SweatPants, screaming out the name of the girl that allows her buttcrack to grow, like ivy.
"She doesn't pull up her pants," one of my students insisted, "but she practically pulls them down more!"
All this because of a buttcrack. As low-rise pants continue to get cut lower and the whole idea of underwear is beginning to raise the question: Under where? Buttcracks are now causing migraines.