When I was in high school in Belgium (the equivalent to 8th or 9th grade), I had a Biology teacher who had a serious style and fashion problem. She was frightful-looking, cross-eyed, with long stringy hair, glasses, and buck teeth. She was clearly middle-aged, and yet, hope springs eternal, she wore mini-skirts that revealed more than anyone would want to see of her her knobby knees and chicken legs.
I can't begin to relate how much of s trouble-maker I was in that class... I sat in the back, with the class clown and his acolytes, and we disrupted the entire class on an ongoing basis. The poor woman, whose humble ambition was to get the class to dissect a frog, never got a chance. I lead our group in loudly objecting that it was cruel and unusual treatment of animals. Small animals. Like poor little frogs, wrenched away from their little ponds, to end up in a stupid classroom, cut into pieces, all for nothing. Why did we have to do this? Could we just draw the frog, and be done? I didn't give a rat's... about dissection; I didn't give a rat's... about Biology either for that matter. Etc.
We never dissected any frog. In fact, we never did anything else than riot in the class.