1. Infant school. The class next to mine was studying measurement. They identified the tallest boy and girl in the class; laid them down on big pieces of paper and drew around them; then painted on clothes and features in that glorious poster paint, the smell of which does the Proustian rush thing like no other substance; and stuck the cut-out, life-size figures on the corridor wall for the rest of us to see, annotated with "ANGELA IS THE TALLEST GIRL" and "MATTHEW IS THE TALLEST BOY".
It's probably fair to say that nobody had noticed they were so tall before this. Angela was better known as The Fat Girl; and Matthew was The Simple Boy.
2. Secondary school. Fourth year lesson. At this stage, girls were slowly being brought into the sixth form, but the lower years were still all-male. One of the rare females, a particularly curvaceous specimen, joggled past the classroom in her netball kit, attracting the eyes of not a few students. The teacher gazed at her, raised an eyebrow and muttered under his breath, "Oooh, stiff as a poker."
It was a grotesquely inappropriate thing to say, but I suppose he felt that it would assist the emotional bond; that we might see him as a human being rather than as a distant authority figure. And it worked; we laughed, albeit in a slightly uncomfortable manner, like when you hear your mum swearing. And it was several years before we discovered that, in reality, he preferred boys.