Startled by His Furry Shorts

by Louise Rennison

What is the matter with boys?

  8:00 p.m.

  How disgusting is this? Mum said that Angus has eaten her tights and that if I see them poking out of his bum-oley, I must pull them out!

  I said to her, “Mum, are you so short of tights that you will wear some that have been in Angus’s bum-oley?”

  And she said, “No, I just want to strangle him with them.”

  She is a vair violent and unreasonable person.

  in my bedroom

  11:00 p.m.

  I am using positive thinking and swinging my arms around a lot as I make up an acceptance speech for when the Luuurve God says he wants to go out with me.

  OK, this is my acceptance speech: “Aah Masimo, what a lovely surprise to see you…Owwww you furry freak!!!”

  That isn’t the speech. Gordy just leapt off the wardrobe and used my head as a landing pad so he didn’t have to hurt his feet leaping straight onto the floor.

  Anyway, on with my acceptance speech.

  “Aah Masimo, che bella sorpresa! What a nice surprise to see you this…” Hang on, what is Italian for ‘this evening’? This nightio? That can’t be right—he’ll think I am talking about my jimjams for some reason. I’ll look it up later in my Italian for Complete Fools book. Anyway, on with the acceptance speechio…“Oh you would like me to be your girlfriend? Well, that would be mucho bello. Grassy arse.”

  Short and to the point, I think that is the key.

  tuesday june 21st

  7:30 a.m.

  Had a dream about Masimo last night, only he wasn’t speaking in a nice Pizza-a-gogo land accent; he was saying things like, “That is well good.” And, “Shut it, my son.” And most alarmingly he was in a band called The Blunderboys. I was at the gig and he came over to me and said, “Get your tracksuit top, you’ve pulled.” And as we rode off on his scooter, he started singing, “The Funky Moped,” by Jasper Carrot. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat. What can it mean?

  wednesday june 22nd

  6:00 p.m.

  How long can this torture go on? On one hand the days seem very very long, like creeping along snaily days; on the other hand it’s only a matter of hours until Friday. How many hours exactly? Well, it’s 6:00 P.M. now, so that means plus six tonight and then twenty-four plus for tomorrow and then, er, well, what time will he phone on Friday? Will he count from the hour he told me he would tell me in a week’s time? I would. It was 5:45 P.M. last Friday when he told me, so a week would be 5:45 P.M. this Friday. But you never know with boys; what if he counts it from when he got home? Would that be 6:15 P.M? Or maybe he didn’t go straight home, maybe he went to the shops and got a few nibbly things. Then bumped into someone, so he didn’t actually get home until 8:00 P.M. Oh God.

  6:30 p.m.

  Phoned Jas in sheer desperadoes.

  “Jas, do you think he will phone me or come round?”

  “Erm, I dunno.”

  “Yeah, but what do you think? What would you do if you were going to tell me whether you wanted to go out with me?”

  “Er…but I don’t want to go out with you. I would just tell you. In fact, I am just telling you now.”

  “Jas, you are being what is technically known as a fool.”

  She of course classically immediately for no reason got the mega hump. But I was in no mood for her humps. I said, “What does Tom think?”

  She said, “Hang on, I’ll ask him.”

  Good grief, are they joined at the hip?

  She came back a few mins later and said, “Tom says he will do a bit of detective work and see if he can find out anything.”

  I said fanks, but in my heart of hearts I don’t know if letting Radio Jas find out things is the best foot forward. Too late now.

  8:30 p.m.

  Tom is going to the snooker club tonight and the Stiff Dylans are playing in a tournament. Oh Goddygodgod.

  midnight

  Jas says she will tell me anything she finds out tomorrow because Tom is going to call her first thing. How am I supposed to sleep under these conditions?

  thursday june 23rd

  7:50 a.m.

  Banging on Jas’s door.

  one minute later

  Jas’s mum answered the door all washed and dressed normally. And smiling. Crikey.

  It’s so relaxing and normal round here, no wonder Jas has got a boyfriend and is not on the rack of love all the time. She has been brought up properly, not dragged up by fools like I have.

  Jas’s mum said, “Would you like a piece of toast, dear, or maybe a boiled egg?”

  A boiled egg!! Wow, it was like being in a Famous Five book—the next thing you knew, Jas’s dad would come bounding in with a cheery smile and a newspaper.

  one minute later

  Jas’s dad came in with a cheery smile and a newspaper. What is even more amazing is that although he smiled at me, he didn’t say anything. Nothing. How cool is that? He didn’t ask me anything or tell me a crap joke or anything, he just went off to read his paper. Like a proper dad. He has probably got a pipe.

  one minute later

  He HAS got a pipe!!!

  And he doesn’t even light it. He just sucks on it in a pleasant way and doesn’t annoy people with smoke, etc.

  Amazing.

  five minutes later

  Waking along to Stalag 14. Waiting for Jas to tell me about the snooker hall thing. I’m not going to ask her; I have too much pridenosity. She was doing tuneless humming. Very annoying. Then she started talking about MacUseless and her part as Lady Macbeth. Who cares about her? She said, “Have you practiced your crying for the bit when Macduff finds out his wife and children have been killed?”

  I just looked at her. If she thinks it is me that should practice crying, she should try rambling on about rubbish for a bit longer.

  But she is as sensitive as a brick. She just went on. “You know when I do the spot thing, well…do you think it should be OUT damn spot! Or Out DAMN spot!!! Or Out damn SPOT!!”

  Finally I snapped. If she thinks I can talk about spots at a time like this, she is madder than I thought. Which doesn’t seem possible.

  I said, “It’s irrelevant how you say spot, Jas.”

  She got all huffy. “No, I think it carries the whole production.”

  “I’m not talking about the production. I’m just saying it’s irrelevant how you say spot because you won’t be alive for MacUseless unless you tell me what happened last night at snooker. What did Tom say?”

  She looked a bit shifty and began fiddling with her fringe. I resisted slapping her hand. Then she said, “Do you want a bit of chuddie?”

  “No.”

  “What about a black midget gem? They are your fave and…”

  “Jas.”

  “Well remember, don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “What?”

  “I’m just telling you because you asked me to, it’s not my fault as such.”

  assembly

  Apparently Lindsay had turned up at the snooker hall and had stayed for about twenty minutes talking to Masimo and then slimed off. I tried asking Jas if they looked like they were having snoggy talk, but she said that Tom had gone back to playing snooker. Typical of boys. They think about such rubbish. Tom can’t even tell me what Lindsay was wearing, but apparently he told Jas every single score of each game he played and how long each game lasted.

  Who cares about that?

  My life is double merde. And a half. And that is a fact.

  break

  The ace gang did their best to keep my spirits up.

  But even Rosie tucking her skirt into her knickers and walking into class as if she looked perfectly normal couldn’t cheer me up.

  And I am sure that Wet Lindsay was deliberately shaking her ludicrous extensions about like a ninny to show me that she had spoken to Masimo. With a bit of luck she will catch them in a locker and her head will come off.

  7:30 p.m.

  In bed under the covers. With the lights out. Mum bustled in. She said,
“What are you doing in bed?”

  I said from under the covers, “Oh you know, the shot put, that sort of thing.”

  What does she think I am doing in bed at night with the light off?

  She immediately got the hump, obviously. “You are so rude, Georgia. It’s not my fault you’ve got obsessed with some boy. And I’m not your servant, either. You just come in and drop your things anywhere. I’m a person, you know, not just here to tidy up after you and cook and clean.”

  That perked me up despite my tragicosity. I sat up and removed my cucumber eye patches. “Cook and clean? Clean?? Cook?? I had a cheese sandwich for my dinner, and that is after double Maths. AND I made the sandwich AND Gordy ate half of it when I was scrabbling in the fridge hoping there might be something green in there to save me from rickets. There was something green in there as it happens, but I don’t like MOSS.”

  Mum shouted: “Oh here’s an idea, why don’t YOU clean the fridge sometime? And, anyway, don’t I have any right to be myself? You know I’ve got aerobics on Thursdays, it keeps me in shape.”

  I said, “Wrong.”

  She stormed out then in a huff and a tizz and a strop. “You are HORRIBLE!!!”

  And she slammed the door. How childish.

  7:45 p.m.

  I’m not horrible. She’s horrible.

  8:00 p.m.

  What time is it now?

  Oh dear God.

  9:00 p.m.

  I can’t sleep. I may even have to do my French homework to take my mind off Masimo and Lindsay.

  What were they talking about for twenty minutes?

  9:10 p.m.

  Here we go. Chapter 14 in my French textbook. Jools and Jim and their fantastic excursion to the Bois de Boulogne. Why are they so excited about going to some woods? It’s like reading the froggy version of Jas and Tom. I could write a book called Jas and Tom and Their Fantastic Excursion to the Bois de Boulogne.

  Clearly no one would buy it because it would be so boring.

  on the brink of madnosity

  friday june 24th

  dawn

  Birds singing, clouds cludding, heart thudding. What if he comes to meet me after Stalag 14? What if he just decides spontaneously to come to school and pick me up? That’s what boys do. They don’t think about the preparation that has to be done. Makeup and mood planning and so on.

  Oh Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers.

  Also if he was thinking the age gap was a bad thing, the last thing he needs to see is me in my stupid school shirt and tie. I must take a change of clothes just in case. I’ll have to dash off to the tarts’ wardrobe after the MacUseless rehearsal.

  one minute later

  But what if he doesn’t know about the MacUseless rehearsal and comes at the normal time they open the prison gates?

  Even if I keep things to the minimum, lip gloss, foundation, mascara, it is still going to take me ten minutes and the changing as well. Oh this is so stressful. Why do we have to go to school? I’ve been going for the last ten years and where has it got me? Still at school, that is where it has got me.

  7:40 a.m.

  Packing my rucky.

  I’ve put in my clothes and essential makeup. So clearly there is no room for my books and homework. C’est la vie. Anyway, I am only going to school in the first place to fill in time and to stop my mutti and vati going to jail. I don’t know why I bother, though. Mum is still ignorez vousing me. She is so vair vair immature.

  8:30 a.m.

  Mum didn’t even say good morning or look at me when I rustled around in the kitchen. She is still having the hump and strop because of what I said about her shape. You know, not having one. Maybe that was going just that tiny bit too far.

  8:35 a.m.

  Maybe not, though.

  When Mum bent over to hand Libby a spoon for her eggy and soldiers, she knocked over a cup of tea with her nunga-nungas.

  8:40 a.m.

  I said, “S’laters” as I went, but Mrs. Giant Basoomas didn’t say anything. My lovely sister didn’t ignore me, though, unfortunately.

  She snogged me and said, “Here is your runch, Ginger, yum.”

  And gave me a bit of soldier with egg on it. It is not as such unchewed.

  8:45 a.m

  Jas is being “cool,” it is vair vair vair annoying and driving me to the brink of madnosity.

  I wanted to know what she thought the Luuurve God would decide. She knows this is the big decision day. She is trying to be philosophical about my situation like she is some beardy monk or something. She said, “Que sera, whatever will be, will be, the future is not ours to see. Que sera, sera.”

  I said, “Don’t say que sera again, Jas, unless you want a duffing incident.”

  She just raised her eyebrows, but I know that she is deliberately saying “que sera” in her brain.

  assembly

  We shuffled into the main hall past Droopy Drawers Lindsay and her astonishingly dim mate Monica. No sign of Hawkeye Seeing-eye Dog and Oberführer. Oh dear, I hope she hasn’t been accidentally kidnapped by squids.

  Slim is dressed entirely in brown today, which makes her look like a giant onion bhaji. As usual, she had something depressing to say.

  “Settle, girls.” We resisted doing our cooing thing like pigeons because she was on a rampage extraordinaribus. She said, “It has come to my attention that some of you girls are rolling your school skirts over at the waistband to make them shorter. Madame Slack said that she saw a group of girls this morning and at first from a distance she thought they had forgotten to put their skirts on at all. This is a ridiculous practice and gives the school a bad name. It will cease forthwith.”

  Oh ramble on, why don’t you? Has she really not got anything else to think about? What is so vair vair wrong with showing a bit of knee to cheer up the nation? Slim had finished with knees and was now onto something even more boring.

  “And now to fire precautions, a most important and serious subject. Mr. Attwood has something to say to you.”

  I said to Ro Ro, “Let’s hope it’s ‘good-bye.’”

  Ro Ro said, “I thought he was supposed to be retiring? Why is he still alive? Why hasn’t he gone to that big caretaker’s home in the sky?”

  Elvis shuffled his way up onto the stage and adjusted his glasses.

  “Thank you, Headmistress. I am sorry to say that during last week’s play rehearsal in the main hall, various incidents involved the unlawful use of fire extinguishers. They have been used in what some idiots like to call ‘foam fights.’ I was caught in one of these so-called ‘foam fights’ and have only just recovered proper hearing in my left ear. But even more serious is the fact that I came across one of my fire blankets being put over the vaulting horse in the gym by a Foxwood lad. When I asked the culprit why he had removed an important part of firefighting equipment, he said (and Elvis looked at his sad snitching diary), ‘I thought the horse might be chilly, because even though it’s June the nights can turn quite nippy noodles.’”

  The ace gang had a laughing spaz, but we had to change it into coughing in case of a bad conduct mark all-round fandango. I had forgotten about the gymhorse and Dave the Laugh incident. I might have known Elvis would have snitched.

  Elvis was still going on. “Would that lad have found it funny if he had caught fire and the blanket I would have normally used to extinguish him was missing? Do any of you see the joke now?”

  I half put my hand up, but Madame Slack was on substitute glaring duty in Hawkeye’s absence, so I had to turn it into scratchy ear.

  Happy happy days!!! Apparently Hawkeye is off today brushing up her girl hating skills at some convention (the Cruelty Convention probably). She’ll come back with a whip and an Alsatian next week, but on the plus side I can put as much makeup on as I like this arvie! We only have Miss Wilson and Herr Kamyer. Hooorah!!!

  behind the five’s court

  break time

  I said to the ace gang, “I am soooooo nervous. I feel an f.t. comi
ng on quickly followed by a nervy b. If I smoked, you wouldn’t be able to see my head for smoke. I would be smoking ten at a time. And I would have a pipe as well. Say something to calm me down.”

  Ellen said, “What time, what time will, he call…I mean, did he say he would call or did he say See you later…because if he did, I mean if he did the s’later thing, well, that would mean…well, I don’t know what that would mean.”

  I said, “Thanks very much for that, Ellen.”

  Jools said, “What exactly is the point of boys?”

  Mabs said, “Pardon?”

  Jools said, “I mean really, what is the point of having them around?”

  Rosie said, “Snogging.”

  Jools said, “Yeah, fair point, but besides that? I mean, take Rollo. I like him and everything, but he turns up and we go to the pictures and snog. Or we go for a walk and we snog. Or we just snog. Which is nice. But the fact is, mostly I don’t know what on earth he is going on about. He says stuff like, ‘I’ve got the entire collection of first-edition Beano comics.’ What am I supposed to think about that?”

  We did supportive shrugging.

  Rosie said, “I think your mistake is thinking you should talk to him. It’s so much more soothing to have a foreign boyfriend who is also mad.”

  Jas had got up onto her high horsey knickers and said, “Well, I think you are wrong, Rosie. Tom and I do all sorts of things together. We go beyond just snogging.”

  I went, “Oooo-er.”

  But she was off into Jasland. “I mean, I think the important thing is to choose someone that you have things in common with.”

  Oh please, don’t let her go on about mollusks.

  Rosie was stuffing a Jammy Dodger into her gob but she still managed to drop le bombshell: “Oh yes, I so agree, that is why Sven and I are going to get married.”

  What? We all looked at her. She looked back.

  I said, “No, you’re not.”

  Rosie opened her mouth and showed me her half-eaten Jammy Dodger. Good grief. Has the strain of going out with Sven finally driven her to bonkerosity?

  two minutes later

  Even though I tried to make Rosie admit she was joshing, she insists she is a bride to be.

  I said, “Oh yes, and when did you become a bride to be? Was it a minute ago, when you got bored with Jas talking about her and Hunky?”