She looks scandalized.
Anyway, so you know that chick your teachers are always harping about getting to know? Except, you don’t call her a chick anywhere but inside the confines of your head because that would be disrespectful. So you probably call her “my counselor”, since she has a ridiculously difficult name to remember.
Okay, you’re lying. You don’t actually know who she is.
But that’s all perfectly rational! You’ve never met her, so she’s probably dealing crack cocaine on the side. Behind that slightly frizzy hair; big, round, doe eyes; and proper blouses half-hidden underneath those proper cotton-blend cardigans is probably a monster that eats your soul by making you cry it out when you spill our heart’s blood out to her.
You’ve never met her, and you’ve already figured her out.
Don’t trust that woman. She’s no good. And when you go and ask her for a recommendation letter, you make sure to take along expensive chocolates and practice your pathetic-puppy/simpering-student face just so she doesn’t whip out anything other than a shining recommendation letter that all she has to do is code to your generic student-attributes and sign with her signature.
Obviously. You know.