Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 07 (7 page)

Four layers of natural foundation?

Check.

Shading applied to draw the eye away from less good features, i.e., huge conkerositiness?

Well, I've done my best.

Hair not looking like bombhead?

Yes, sir.

Lippy and lip gloss applied for that hint of a sophisticosity beyond my years and a touch of Eastern promise. (Turkish delight–flavored lip gloss.) Mmmm tasty.

Over-the-shoulder boulder holder and knick-nacks next.

Good. All safely harnessed in.

Now then, clothes, hmmm.

Tight jeans but not too tight that I can't get my leg over…his Vespa.

Or should I wear my skirt with the fringey bit on?

Yes yes, that's better.

Is it?

7:00 p.m.

I think I'll put the jeans back on. They seem more casual.

7:15 p.m.

Not as full of Sex Kittynosity, though.

I'll put the skirt back on.

7:30 p.m.

What if it's a bit nippy noodles?

Jeans, I think.

7:45 p.m.

Skirt back on.

7:55 p.m.

Jeans, now that is it. I am not changing again.

7:58 p.m.

Skirt!

7:59 p.m.

This is absolutely it. The jeans are on and that is it.

8:00 p.m.

He's still not called. The only slight silver lining is that Swiss Family Mad are out and I have some privacy.

8:05 p.m.

Phone rang. Oh gadzooks!!! I leapt down the stairs. With Angus and Gordy attached to each leg. I thought they had been suspiciously quiet.

They must have been lurking outside my door just waiting for me to come out. They clung on all the way down, even though their heads were bumping against each step. Don't they feel pain?

Sadly not. Got to the phone with my cat legs and did a lot of calmy calm breathing. Ommmmm.

I picked up the phone.

“Georgia?”

“Jas!!! Why are you calling me now?”

“Because I wanted to know if you were on the phone to Masimo. I didn't know you were going to answer it.”

“Why wouldn't I answer the phone if it rang?”

“Because as I have explained, it wouldn't have rung if you had been on the phone and…“

“Look Jas, I have to go.”

“He hasn't rung, has he? I can tell. You sound really really bad. Are you feeling awful? I would. Have you been blubbing?”

“No, I…”

“It must be awful being dumped. Especially when you had never really, you know, been…”

“Jas.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“I was just being a chum.”

“Well, don't.”

“Well, I won't.”

“Good.”

I slammed the phone down so that she couldn't go off in a strop. I had outstropped her for once. Ha ha and double ha.

8:10 p.m.

Managed to eventually get the kitties off by spraying them with the shower attachment. I had to be careful to just focus the water on their heads and not get any on my jeans. They hate the idea of being clean and they leapt off sneezing and shaking like loonies and charged outside to roll in some fox poo or something.

8:30 p.m.

Perhaps he's got a Stiff Dylans gig.

9:02 p.m.

Or perhaps Wet Lindsay was telling the truth and he does think I am pathetic but he's sorry for me.

9:03 p.m.

Perhaps he is held up because he is telling Wet Lindsay that she looks like an octopus. I wish.

9:08 p.m.

Perhaps he is seeing her on a date? Oh noooooo.

Still girdey loins, girdey loins.

9:10 p.m.

I must consult with my boy manual
How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You.

9:20 p.m.

Oh Godgoddygod, I have done the wrong thing!!! It says that you shouldn't let boys know that you want something because then they feel under pressure. Ohhhh noooo.

9:30 p.m.

It's true, isn't it? The rule with boys is glaciosity at all times. I remember when Dave the Laugh told me I had inadvertently displayed glaciosity to Masimo when I ran off when he asked for my phone number.

Oh I wish I could phone up the Hornmeister now.

I miss him.

Only in a matey way.

He hasn't said anything nice to me lately.

Although he did say “bad Sex Kitty.”

9:32 p.m.

He used to say that despite being certifiably insane I was a lovely, funny person.

And that is nice.

Just what a proper boy mate would say.

9:33 p.m.

But if he is just a boy mate, how come we got to No. 6?

9:34 p.m.

But my ad hoc and red bottomosity days are over. I will never feel Dave the Laugh's nip libbling technique again. Which is a shame. Shut up, shut up, voice of the Horn.

9:35 p.m.

I don't know why I am bothering giving up the horn in my head when in fact no one is asking me to be
their one and only girlfriend, anyway.

I may as well take off my makeup.

9:40 p.m.

No, why should I bother cleansing and toning? What is the point of having toned skin if there is no one there to say, “Blimey, your skin is toned. Will you be mine?”

downstairs
9:45 p.m.

I looked out of the front room window at the dark street. I may as well go to bed. Forever. I looked up at the dark sky. Surely there is some beardy bloke up there somewhere who cares about me? Maybe I should go to church more. My last visit was not what you would call an all-round success
vis-à-vis
the accidental pensioner inferno which, I must say, was a lot of fuss about nothing. The elderly can be vair hysterical. My votive candle merely set fire to the pensioner's headscarf. She shouldn't have worn acrylic material, as it's clearly a fire hazard. Even before that, I was having an unlaugh. In his sermon Call–Me–Arnold the Vicar said, “We all come into the world alone and go out of it alone.”

I don't know why he bothers going to church just to depress people.

9:46 p.m.

For once he is right, though. I am on my owney. All aloney.

9:48 p.m.

Now I really really am depressed. I am just looking out onto the dark void of life. The long, dark street of life, reaching into the distance of nothingosity.

Then I almost had a nervy spaz because Angus and Gordy suddenly appeared on the windowsill. They were doing pathetic meowing looking straight into my eyes through the window. Well, Angus was. They were opening their mouths and really wailing.

It was a sign. They had sensed my pain and been drawn toward my window of agony to give me comfort. They were wailing along with my inward wailing.

Except the funny thing was, I couldn't hear anything. I opened the window. And they went on doing the pathetic meowing and looking straight into my eyes. And I realized why I hadn't been able to hear them. They couldn't even be bothered
making a noise. They were just doing pretendy silent wailing.

Well, they can stay outside. Why should I be nice to them? No one is nice to me. Anyway, they just use me for kittykat snacks and molesting and then they go off to play without a second's thought.

I hope it snows.

four minutes later

That would be quite unusual in mid summer, but it would fit in with my mood.

And serve the furry freak twins right.

in my bedroom
10:00 p.m.

Oh marvelous, the Mads are back. I can hear them singing, “We're all off to Dublin in the green, in the green” in crap Oirish accents. I must pretend I am asleep. I leapt into bed fully clothed and turned the light off.

I snuggled down in the bed and my feet touched something furry. Which started to purr. The kittykats!!! How had they snuck into my bed? The tiny top window in my bedroom is open, but how would they get up there? They probably have
cat abseiling equipment stashed among Dad's fishing rods in the shed. Too late to drag them out because I could hear an awful noise coming up the stairs. Please please let it not be Vati coming in to sing Irish songs to me and do sad dancing with his trousers rolled up.

It was Mutti because I heard her call to Dad, “Bob, make a cup of tea. I'll put Bibbs to bed and just look in at Georgia.”

Then I realized what the awful noise was. It was my darling little sister snoring like a stuck pig. The snoring got quieter as Mum went into Libb's bedroom and I heard her shut the door. Perhaps she would just go away. But no. My door opened and Mum came over to my bed. I could sort of sense her presence with my eyes tight shut. She whispered, “Gee, are you awake?”

I did a pretendy snore. And that's when I felt the kittykats stir. Something wet and rough touched my feet. Oh God, it was their tongues. They were licking me with their horrible cat tongues! Urgh urgh. It was soo disgusting, I couldn't stand it. But I must keep still, I must. It was like in Latin when we learned about Sparta. Two boys from Sparta went out to steal chickens
and they saw the farmer coming and so they put the chickens down the front of their trousers (or whatever Sparta people wore).

The farmer said, “Oy you two lads-us, have-uth you seen-us any of my chickens-us?” (That's just a rough Latin translation.)

Anyway, the two boys said, “Your chickens-us? Not us, mate-us.”

And the farmer said, “Me thinkus you have-uth.”

And all the time the chickens were pecking and scratching the boys' trouser snake addenda. Eventually the farmer went off and the boys staggered home, handed over the chickens to their mum and then died of their wounds. And the whole of Sparta honored them because they had not cracked under pressure. As I have said many many times, Latin is crap.

Where was I? Oh yes, anyway, that is what it was like for me. I was being submitted to tongue torture. And I couldn't cry out or anything. Mum touched my hair. As she did, the tongues reached the back of my knees. Oh dear God, if they went beyond the knees, I don't think I could stand it.

10:10 p.m.

At last Mum packed it in and left the room. I turned the light on and ripped back the covers to expose the furry leg munchers. I said, “Get out of my bed, NOW!!”

They were blinking in the light. Angus put one big paw on my leg and let his claws come out. He was looking at me and I was looking at him with my sternest look. I know very well that he understands me. I am, after all, his mistress. I am his huge baldy mistress and he knows it is his duty to do what I say. Otherwise its good-bye kittykat snacks. He looked and looked and then he let the tip of his tongue pop out of his mouth. He was doing the tongue lolling idiot cat thing! Gordy was looking at me with one of his eyes and then he just nodded off and keeled over.

What was the point?

Angus settled down and nodded off as well. I didn't have the energy to do anything about them.

I pulled the covers up over us all again. I felt like weeping. And I did. Tears started welling up in my eyes. How could this happen to me? I wasn't a really bad person. OK, I was a bit snappy with Jas,
but that was understandable. I couldn't bear to go to school again. Lindsay would know what had happened and she would make my life a misery.

I am sooo miserable and lonely.

two minutes later

The cats started doing violent sneezing under the covers and then started wiggling their way up the bed.

two minutes later

I have Gordy's head on one side of me and Angus's on the other. I believe they sense my pain.

five minutes later

Angus put his tongue in my ear!!! How disgusting is that? I might not have a boyfriend, but I have got to No. 6 on the snogging scale with my cat.

saturday june 25th
8:30 a.m.

Woke up and thought I had gone blind. Actually it was because I hadn't taken my mascara off and my eyes had stuck together.

I trailed down to the loo. No one was up, of
course. I could hear snoring from practically every room.

in the bathroom

I looked in the mirror. My hair was completely stuck on end, and eye shadow and mascara had dribbled round my eyes like a panda. Also I must have fallen asleep on my face because my nose was flattened out. Who cares, though? My nose could spread itself all over my head for all I cared.

I could become just a nose with arms and legs. A walking nose like Vati. No one liked me. I would never have a boyfriend.

kitchen

I let the cats out because they couldn't be arsed going through the cat flap. They were just sitting in front of the cat flap and yowling. As soon as I opened the door they dashed straight over the wall and into Mr. Next Door's fish pond. They always do this. Every morning they go straight to the fish pond and stare into it. They know very well that there are no goldfish in there. They know because it was them who ate them. Do they think that somehow miraculously during the night the Big
Pussycat in the Sky made goldfish rain down?

Huh, I'd like to tell them there is no Big Pussycat in the Sky.

in my bedroom
10:00 a.m.

Back in bed. I have still got my panda makeup on. I like it. I may never wash again. Sounds of life downstairs. Mum called up: “Georgie, we're off swimming. Want to come?”

I didn't even bother replying. Panda Woman does not go swimming. She stays in her room like Lady Haversham in that Dickens book, what is it called?
Crap Expectations
, I think. Anyway, Lady Haversham is getting married but her fiancé doesn't turn up on her wedding day, so she just sits in her wedding dress gathering cobwebs for years and years. Until she accidentally sets fire to herself with a candle. He's a laugh, Charlie Dickens, not. He should get together with Call-Me-Arnold.