It has to stop. The staring at me with the narrowed, slit eyes. The whispering to the kid next to you. The hint of a pout on your lips.
I know you are a senior. I know you already know everything. I know, you did an internship. Off campus! And therefore you know not only anything I could try to teach, but the secrets of the REAL WORLD. How very, very awesome you are.
But, good grief, Suze, you are giving me a complex. It's to the point that I am more worried about the length of your lip pooch on a given day than about the other wonderful people who paid for this class. And that's not ok.