Nobody Looks Good in Leather Pants (or bowties), Dear Professor Book #1

Part 11

I knew this tactic. I'd watched Luca employ this one hundred times during class, always when he disagreed with a student and was preparing a counter argument. He'd listen to their thoughts and ideas—which were typically ill-formed and lacking conviction—and then he'd poke holes in it until the student conceded, adding another heart-mind combo to his vast collection.

Gathering a deep breath, I shifted my eyes to the wipeboard behind him; I couldn't look at him and his distracting sexy bowtie if I was going to actually debate my point.

"Anna—who is charismatic, charming, vivacious, gorgeous, intelligent, and extremely vain—marries Karenina—a boring, rigid senior government official who she finds unattractive . . ." I paused for dramatic effect, then added, ". . . probably because he's boring."

A short whisper of laughter rumbled over the class, cut even shorter by Luca casting his unimpressed gaze over the students.

Not waiting for him to prompt me, I continued, "Anna didn't belong with Karenina. Leaving him was the right thing to do, for both of them. Falling in love with Vronsky made sense, as he was more her speed."

"You didn't find him shallow?"

"Of course I did," I responded immediately. "He was shallow, and vain, and pretentious. I would never date him, but he was perfect for her. Plus, Vronsky was also passionately in love with Anna. And he was loyal to Anna throughout the entirety of the book, even when others shun her, even when she starts boiling bunnies."

"And yet, Anna is shunned by society, rebuffed at the theater for her sins."

"Yes. Exactly. She is shunned. And so what? If she'd had a stronger sense of herself, then the shunning and rebuffing would hold little concern for her. If you know who you are, rejection matters very little. It says more about the small-mindedness of the person who is doing the rejecting than it does about you."

This last sentence rang through the air for a good twenty seconds after I said it. Though there was no echo, it echoed.

It resonated.

At least, it resonated with me. It bounced around my brain and felt so very, very, very correct.

The class remained still and quiet, apparently lost to their own thoughts. Meanwhile, Luca and I stared at each other, his frown easing as he—also still and quiet—studied me.

Eventually, he gathered a deep breath and countered thoughtfully, "But what of the parallel between Vronsky's horse and his treatment of Anna?"

"Anna is not a horse. On behalf of women everywhere, I object to Tolstoy's attempt to draw a parallel between a farm animal and a woman. Again, it speaks volumes about Tolstoy, but I digress. If Anna based her worth on how badass and awesome she was, rather than the opinions of those who rejected her, then she would have lived a long, happy life with her daughter and smokin' hot lover, Vronsky. Instead, she throws herself in front of a train, just because she isn't invited to a party."

"People cannot dwell or thrive in isolation."

"She wasn't isolated. She had peasants," I said with a grin. "She should have befriended the peasants. Peasants are awesome and throw great parties."

Another rumble of laughter rippled through the lecture hall and, though Luca's eyebrows told me he was still frowning, his mouth curved into a betraying smile.

"And what of pride?" he asked softly. "What of a place in society? In one's own family?"

I flicked my wrist with a dismissive gesture. "Pride is just another word for insecurity and fear—again, having no strong sense of self or worth. If pride is the driving force behind your decisions, then your life is going to suck." I stopped myself before saying balls, as in: your life is going to suck balls.