Pardon me, Professor Easton?
I'm really not prepared for this pop quiz.
Could we do it next week?
Well how about a take-home quiz?
Not even for just me?
But I gave you full eye-contact and a subtle, wanton smile while I asked, followed by an expectant bite of my lower lip.
How could that not work?
Here- let me lean over for maximum cleavage.
I would have worn a better top if I'd known we were doing this today.
Is that doing the trick?
No, but I can see you're warming up to me.
Here, how about this-
I'll pretend I'm trying to be quiet since the quiz started, and I'll lean in and talk to you in a breathy whisper.
My half-exposed breast will rub against your arm as I suggest we talk about this in your office after class.
I'll imply that this is such a situation of grave importance that you may have the leverage to make me degrade myself, the way I will in two years when I meet that banker with a city loft or in four years when I have a problem saying no to a barback with cocaine.
But in this situation, all you'll get is the load of bullshit I come up with between now and the end of class.
It will include, but not be limited to, a suicidal roommate, a stalker ex-boyfriend, my parents' divorce, feminine problems, my computer crashing, being carjacked, a bout of swine-flu or ambivilance over a pending abortion.
Whatever I go with, you probably won't believe me.
Plus you'll be pissed that I'm not seducing you.
However, you'll weigh the possibility that my lame story might be true and how uncomfortable I'll make the situation if you don't go along with it.
Then you'll calculate what I might say happened here in your office after 100 other students saw me whisper into your ear instead of taking this quiz.
You'll want the situation to go away quickly and quietly, so you'll grant me the extention.
I'll give you a big hug to make you feel better, then find one of those Asian boys in my study group to do it for me.