Today, I was made to suffer. Pretty much everywhere I went, The Quarterback was there, with The Girlfriend. Normally, I can go days without laying eyes on him but today his presence was unavoidable, or at least that’s how it felt. In the morning, he was near my locker, playing with her hair and making her giggle. At lunch he was at the next table, feeding her yoghurt (Key Lime Pie, non fat). In Math, he was passing her notes that made her blush a delicious pink.
I was in a fowl mood all day, so fowl that Stu fell out with me and refused to lend me his Spanish textbook. He said he was sick of my moods, that I was always like this nowadays and I had permanent PMS. I said he ought to know how that felt, being such a GIRL himself, and he said was that the best I could do and stormed off. I am turning into a Douche myself – it’s contagious.
I couldn’t sleep last night, despite making peace with Stu. I persuaded him to go see ‘Betty Blue’ at the Art House AND bought him two Ben and Jerry’s (Triple Caramel Chunk and Cherry Garcia). I guess ‘Betty Blue’ wasn’t the best choice in the world, it being a movie about some French chick who goes completely bat shit insane. And it STARTING with full-on-butt-naked-sweaty-sex.
When I got home I got to thinking about how The Quarterback must spend his Friday nights when it isn't football season, which put me in a fowl mood again. I never used to think about this shit before.
I woke up this morning with a positive attitude and the determination to Get On With My Life. I was determined to suppress a certain feeling, one that went with the fact that it was Sunday. All of a sudden Sundays have taken on a certain significance, one that I am determined to exorcise. I started with some Yoga exercises (after digging out a long abandoned yoga mat) then made Dad breakfast – waffles, eggs, bacon, freshly ground coffee, the works. He was a bit surprised but gamely worked his way through the enormous pile of food. Then I finally finished reading ‘Catch 22’ AND immediately wrote a book report and posted it on my English class’s blog. Then because the sun came out, I went out into the yard, considered exposing some skin but decided that was a step too far, and mowed the lawn instead, listening to my ‘Upbeat’ playlist which has been somewhat neglected of late. I got so into ‘Walking on Sunshine’ that I didn’t hear the car pulling up. God knows how long he had been standing there by the time I saw him. I should have done the immature thing and just pretended not to have seen him but instead I promptly stopped all activity, froze on the spot and gawked at him with my mouth unattractively open. He was leaning on his car, arms crossed, in his usual insouciant manner. I took the earphones out. "What are you doing here?”
“Don’t mess me around. I have a bitchin’ hangover.”
I nervously looked back at the house. I really did not want my Dad to see him here.
“Are you getting in?”
I just stood there, deciding whether to be difficult or not. "OK.” It really was that simple. He barks, I jump. And, Dear Diary, you are the only person on earth I will admit that to.
When I got back a couple of hours later, Dad gave me a really funny look. Apparently Stu called round while I was gone and neither of them could work out where I might have disappeared to. I mumbled something about walking round the block but wasn’t exactly convincing. At least he hadn’t seen The Quarterback; at least I thought he hadn’t. Maybe he was testing my honesty. Now I have something else to worry about. Am I ever going to get any peace?
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