Startled by His Furry Shorts Read online

  And he gave me a big, proper boy hug. It felt really nice. Especially as I may never feel another boy’s jumper next to my head in this lifetime, the way things are going. He sat down on the bed and looked at both of us and said, “OK, what have you two been talking about? Lipstick?”

  We both looked offended. Tom went on. “Erm…world peace, the Manchester United attacking four? Snogging?”

  I said with dignitosity at all times, “I’ve got a lot more on my mind than boys, Tom. There are other things in the world, you know.”

  He said, “So it’s all over with you and the Italian Stallion then?”

  “No, well, er, maybe…oh I don’t know.”

  And I blurted out the whole story because it was so nice to have a boy type to talk to. And for a boy, Tom is very nearly not quite completely insane.

  At the end, he lay back on Jas’s stuffed owl family and said, “Wow.”

  I looked at him.

  He looked at me. “Wowzee wow and wow.”

  Jas said, “I know, that’s what I thought.”

  What are they, the idiot telepathic twins?

  I said to Tom, “What do you think?”

  He said, “Well, you know he’s just come out of a big relationship and, well, he’s a fit-looking guy, isn’t he? Not that I’m on the turn or anything. But he is. He could pretty much have any chick he wanted.”

  Jas was nodding away like Tom was Dr. Ruth, psychiatrist to the Hollywood set or something. And she shuffled up really close to him. It’s pathetic.

  Tom went on talking. “Georgia, you don’t think he’s, you know, well, a bit worried that you might be a bit…well, unusual.”

  I said, “Unusual? Like how?”

  Tom said, “Well, when he first asked you if you wanted a drink, you went off disco dancing to Rolf Harris’s ‘Two Little Boys.’”

  Oh Goddygodgod, am I never to be free from my own bonkerosity?

  I said, “What else is a person supposed to do when their boy entrancers get stuck together?”

  Jas was still doing her nodding along wisely fiasco. She said to Tom, “Yes, yes, I see what you mean. He may be afraid to go out with her and really who can blame him?”

  I was just about to lunge for her throat when her mum knocked on the door and said, “May I come in for a moment, Jas? Dad and I are off to the allotment and then we may pop into the club for a quick game of cards, so I’ve left snacks in the kitchen. I know how you young people eat! ’Bye.”

  Her mutti and vati were going to their allotment. Jas’s mum was wearing welligogs and a proper mum sized pair of trousers and a cardi. Her vati probably didn’t even know what leather trousers were. My vati had a clown car and my mum had come in last night with her T-shirt on inside out. How was I supposed to know how to behave? Why would any Luuurve God want to have anything to do with me?

  Oh nooo, please don’t let me blub.

  Tom looked at me and then he put his arm around me.

  “Listen, Georgia, if he doesn’t get you then it’s his loss. You’re fab, we all know that.”

  Jas even had a go at being nice. “Yes, you are, er, fab, and you are so, you know, you. I mean you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t you, would you?”

  What is she rambling on about?

  Tom was fishing about in his rucky. “I’ve got something to show you, Gee.”

  Oh blimey, now he was going to get his newts out or something, at a time like this.

  He handed me a pile of photos. Oh good, they were of his trip to Kiwi-a-gogo land. How interesting, not.

  I flicked through them. Trees, trees, sheep, trees, Kiwi-a-gogo people in big boots and shorts and funny beards. And the men were just as bad!!! Hahahahahahah. Oh shut up, brain. More sheep, wombat droppings, rogue bores, more beards, sheep, trees, sheep and…then I saw the photo of you know who. The Original Sex God heartbreaker. Smiling into the camera. With dreamy dark blue eyes. Suntanned. Standing in a river wearing shorts. Thank goodness I had eschewed him with a firm hand and felt nothing.

  one minute later

  Corrrrrr. And also phwoar.

  back in my bedroom of pain

  7:00 p.m.

  I felt like a goosegog extraordinaire round at Jazzy Spazzy’s. All that hand holding and giggling, it’s pathetic. I may as well have been the wife of the Invisible Man. Mrs. Invisible Man. It was all kissy kiss kiss, “Oooooohhh Tom, do you like my new shoes?” “Oooohhh Tom, I’ve got a new owl.” Pathetic. I would never do that in front of anyone. I needn’t worry, though, because if Masimo chooses Wet Lindsay, I am going to be living in a lesbian monastery for the rest of my life.

  five minutes later

  Life really has gone merde when I can’t even speak to my besty pally because she is so BUSY with her boyfriend.

  Well, so be it if she chooses Tom above me; that is her lookout.

  I will be eschewing her with a firm hand.

  A LOT.

  Like I am eschewing Robbie.

  I will not have him in my brain; there is no room for anyone else in the cakeshop of agony. It’s crowded enough in there already.

  And, anyway, Masimo is my one and only one.

  Maybe.

  ten minutes later

  I hate Jas.

  My so-called friend and bestie. But I tell you this for free, she will never know how much she has hurt me. I might be in pain but at least I have my dignitosity.

  That I will never give up for anyone.

  one minute later

  Phoned Jas.

  “Jas, what do you think Masimo will say, do you think he wants to go out with me? Would you go out with me if you were him?”

  “Oy don’t start that lezzie business again.”

  “Jas, I am just asking you to imagine being him and what you would think about me if you were him. I mean, you wouldn’t pick Wet Lindsay over me, would you?”

  “She’s got quite nice arms.”

  “Jas, that is the wrong answer. The correct answer is, ‘Of course I would choose you every time, Georgia. You gorgey creature.’”

  “Well, if you already know the answer, what is the point of asking me the question?”

  “And, by the way, what do you mean she has got nice arms? She’s a stick insect, therefore she’s got stickey thin stupid arms. And unusually enough for a stick insect, it doesn’t stop there; she’s got a stupid forehead and stupid feet and…”

  “I’ve not seen her feet unclothed. Have you? When did you see her feet?”

  “Jas, I don’t know that I have seen her feet, but I know that they are sad. Anyway, stop going on and on about her feet. I’m not interested in her bloody feet.”

  “Well, I didn’t start the feet business, I was only being polite.”

  I slammed down the phone. I may be having a nervy spaz.

  I’d better eat something sweet.

  in the kitchen

  Nothing to eat, of course.

  I must and shall have sugar.

  five minutes later

  Never have sugar on bread. It is disgusting.

  7:30 p.m.

  I had better plan what I am going to wear the day that he comes round to see me. It may be the deciding factor between happinosity and sadnosity.

  I must make sure he doesn’t see me in my school uniform. It will only remind him that I go to school.

  I think I will practice smiling in the mirror.

  7:40 p.m.

  Oh what larks, I am developing a lurker on my chin. Perfect, it should just be nicely ripening into a massive red pus-filled second chin by Friday.

  five minutes later

  Typico, I have run out of spot cream. I could squirt some perfume on it, that sometimes works. What does it say in CosmoGIRL! vis-à-vis lurker alerts?

  five minutes later

  Apparently you are supposed to lure out the lurker by encouraging it to come to a head. You should steam the area. With a steaming thing.

  ten minutes later

  I’ve had my face over a boiling s
aucepan for the last year and a half and although my face is bright red and dripping with water, the lurker is still lurking there happily.

  In Cosmo’s beauty hints it says you can use a poultice to draw it out.

  What can I use as a poulticey type thing? It says a muslin bag with herbs and stuff in it.

  in the bathroom

  I have just looked in the “medical chest” and it has got some moldy old oranges, a leg from Libby’s Pantalitzer doll, and some dried cat poo in it. How disgusting…

  in mutti and vati’s bedroom

  I’ve found some corn plasters in a drawer. Maybe they would do as a poultice?

  I’ll stick one over the lurker.

  one minute later

  Well, that is attractive, not.

  But who said that love was painless?

  one minute later

  And who said it involved corn plasters?

  8:10 p.m.

  God, the lurker is throbbing. I hope the corn plaster poulticey thing isn’t drawing anything else out. I don’t want to wake up with no chin.

  8:15 p.m.

  I may as well be an orphan, for all the notice my family takes of me. They went out gaily laughing and singing years ago, leaving me with a measley fiver for a whole day. Just out scaring people for hours and hours.

  I hate them.

  It’s a bit spooky in the house by myself. Even the kittykats are nowhere around. What if an escaped prisoner came in out of the night and broke into the house to get food and so on?

  He wouldn’t stay long, I can tell you that.

  ten minutes later

  I never thought the day would come when I would be glad to hear the whine of Vati’s half-horsepower clown car, but it has.

  I scampered up to my bedroom.

  one minute later

  Loony alert.

  Bang bang, crash. Why can no one in my family open a door normally? Crashing around when starving people with two chins are trying to sleep?

  Mum came upstairs into my room. I don’t know why she bothers having her own room.

  She sat on the bed and looked at me.

  What am I, a looking at person?

  She said, “Could you tell me why you have got a corn plaster on your chin?”

  I said, “Oh leave me alone, will you?”

  “Georgia, what is the matter with you? Seriously, you seem all worried and upset—what is it?”

  And then, I don’t know what happened, but I told her. I said, “I said to the Italian Stallion that I wanted him to be like my proper boyfriend and he said, ‘Oh this is a serious thing,’ you know in that really groovy accent type thing, and then Dave the Laugh said, ‘What if you really liked someone and then you lost them,’ and Jas said, ‘Wet Lindsay has got nice feet and he might like that’…maybe they do, the Italians, they are an ancient race and maybe they like feet…and then a lurking lurker situation occurred, so I got out the corn plaster…and he’s going to choose on Friday. That’s five days away. And the coup de whatsit is that the Original Sex God whose name I will never mention this side of the grave had his shorts on. In a river. Probably showing off to his wombat friends. Oh what is the point?”

  Actually, for a complete fool and someone who tosses her nunga-nungas around with gay abandon, Mum was quite nice. And she seemed to understand. Which I am surprised at, as I don’t know what I’m saying myself most of the time. And I’m in my head. Sadly.

  10:00 p.m.

  Mum gave me a kiss, and I even let her cuddle me. A bit. She said the corn plaster wouldn’t work, but she will get me some cream tomorrow that would dry the lurker up.

  She suggested I keep myself busy with a list of things to do until Friday so that I don’t have time to go mad. Good idea. I will start on the list now.

  two minutes later

  This is my list.

  Practice not being mad.

  10:35 p.m.

  Mum brought Bibbs into bed with me. She was asleep, still clutching her swimming goggles and snorkel. She was also clutching our Lord Jesus, or Sandra, as he is now called in his Barbie frock and makeup. He is Libby’s best new “fwend.” I looked at Bibbs in the half-light in my bedroom. She is so sweet when she is asleep. Her little eyelashes are long and curly and her mouth all pouty and pink. I cuddled up to her, and she turned over in her sleep and put her little arms round me. Ooooohhhhh. I said softly, “Night-night, my little sister. I love you.”

  And she said sleepily, “Night-night, Ginger, I lobe you.”

  Ooohhh. At least she loved me.

  Then she whispered, “Ginger, I poo my jimjams, oh dear.”

  midnight

  After emergency removal of my pooey sister, I eventually snuggled down into my bed of pain alone. Not entirely alone because there is a bit of a residual pong and Sandra/Jesus is still in bed with me.

  2:00 a.m.

  Woke up from a dream.

  I dreamt that I had a conversation with Jesus. Jesus had the hump because he didn’t like his frock and he said his lipstick didn’t suit his complexion. It brought out the orange in it.

  I wonder if it is a message from my subconscious that I must be more religious?

  monday june 20th

  8:00 a.m.

  The Portly One (Vati) yelled up, “Georgia, up NOW! You’ve got five minutes to get your bum down here.”

  Oh he is so crude. And how dare he take my bum’s name in vain?

  My delightful little sister unexpectedly burst into my room to collect Sandra. She was wearing a see-through plastic pacamac and some tiny tiny pants that she must have had when she was a baby. Or, she has nicked the tiny panties from some poor unfortunate little baby at playschool. I must tell Mutti to remind the mothers that they should not leave their toddlers unattended when Libby’s around. She came over, quite slowly because the tiny pants were making her walk with small steps, got into bed with me and grabbed our Lord and started to cuddle him.

  I said, “I’m getting up for school now, Bibbs.”

  She said, “Snuggle buggle.”

  We had a bit of a cuddle and I kissed the top of her head. Is it normal to be able to snack on Rice Krispies from your little sister’s head?

  Mutti came bustling in wearing a costume designed for a teenage prostitute. “Georgia, GET UP!” It’s ten past eight, you’ll be late.”

  I said, “Late for what? Six hours of misery at Stalag fourteen being tortured by the Hitler Youth, followed by twelve hours of extreme boredom and starvation at home.”

  She didn’t even listen; she said, “Don’t be so silly. You are such a drama queen.”

  Is everyone’s life like this?

  ten minutes later

  cleaning my tushy pegs

  I wish it was Friday and I could just get it all over with. Masimo comes round and says, “I am sorry, Georgia, I cannot be your one and only one. How do you say in English language?…ah yes…so long, loser. Loser, loser, double loser, snap snap, get the picture?”

  Then I could just go back to being ordinarily bored and depressed.

  one minute later

  I grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen to ward off death. Angus was happily chewing on something in his basket. He is better fed than me.

  On the way out of the front door I heard Mum screeching like a banshee.

  “Bob, Bob, that horrible furry thing is eating my tights, stop him, stop him!!! Trap him with that chair…”

  Then I heard some crashing and Dad shouting and cursing. Mum hadn’t finished:

  “Of course you haven’t broken your leg, Bob. Anyway, never mind about that, get him…oh bugger, now he’s in the laundry room. Oh dear God, he’s doing a poo in the ironing. That is it, they are going, they are going!!!”

  8:40 a.m.

  Jas was on her wall with Tom when I puffed up the hill. They were looking at something in a brown paper parcel. Jas was talking in a really silly girlie voice that she uses when Hunky is around. I swear to God she will be developing a lisp soon. Pathetic. She wen
t, “Ooooooohhh Hunky, that is soooooo interesting. Look at this, Georgia.”

  And she held out the brown paper bag.

  There was a newt in the bag. How beyond the Valley of the Really Quite Mad and entering the World of Certifiably Bonkers is that?

  Jas said, “It’s got very unusual markings. I’m taking it into Biology to show Miss Finnigan.”

  I said, “Yeah good idea. Teacher’s botty kisser.”

  But she didn’t even notice me calling her a teacher’s botty kisser, she was so busy being an idiot around her boyfriend.

  Tom left us at the corner to go off to college. As he kissed her on her cheek, Jas was fiddling with her fringe so much, I thought she had had sudden onset of rampant disco inferno dancing.

  At last they parted. But only after she had blown kisses at him and then he had to pretend to catch them and blow them back for about two trillion years.

  She was completely lost in Jasland. “Oh it is so so so so nice to have him back.”

  I said, “Is it nice to have him back then?”

  But she didn’t get it. She just started again.

  “Oh yes, it is so so so so nice to have him back. I could never not have a boyfriend, it would be so sad. Imagine not having a boyfriend. Oh actually, I suppose you can imagine not having a boyfriend.”

  What a cow she can be. I didn’t hit her because I think violence is wrong, and also she was walking too quickly for me to kick. I just said, “You are a very caring person, Jas, it’s almost uncanny how empathetic you are.”

  “I know, do you know what, sometimes it’s like I can actually read Tom’s thoughts.”

  “Really, you mean when he’s looking at you and not saying anything and yet you know what he is thinking?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  “Yes, I could read his thoughts today too when he was looking at you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it was quite clear, he was thinking, Hey, I’ve accidentally got a prat for a girlfriend.”

  hobbling into stalag 14

  I’m not speaking to Jas. She is vair violent. I may have to go to a support group for victims of friends violence. Al. Pal.

  assembly

  I am at the far end of the ace gang lineup next to Rosie. Not in my usual position next to Mad Dog Jas. She has given Ellen, Jools, Mabs and Ro Ro midget gems from her secret stash, but I don’t care because I am giving her my cold shoulders. She’s only got a boyfriend in the first place because of my excellent stalking skills. If it wasn’t for me, she would still be Mrs. Sad on the shelf of life.