Читать книгу ‘… and that’s when it fell off in my hand.’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 70

I was dragging myself out the door to another day of unnatural torture (school) when the postman arrived. It takes him about a year to get up our driveway because he tries to dodge Angus. Angus loves him. He is his little postie pal. The postie, who is not what you would call blessed in the looks department, was furtively looking around and shuffling about. I said helpfully, “Angus is off on his morning constitutional, so I am afraid you can’t play with him.”

The postie said, “I know what I would like to do with him and it involves a sack and a river. Here you are.”

And he shoved a letter at me. Not ideal behaviour from a servant of the people I don’t think.

Then I noticed it was an aerogram-type letter. For me. From Kiwi-agogo land. From the Sex God.

Oh joy joy joy joyitty joy joy.

And also thrice joy.

I looked at the writing. So Sex-Goddy. And it said “Georgia Nicolson” on it.

That was me.

And on the back it said:

From Robbie Jennings

R.D. 4

Pookaka lane (honestly)

Whakatane

New Zealand

That was him. The Sex God. I started skipping down the street until unfortunately I saw Mark Big Gob and his lardy mates. He doesn’t even bother to look at my face, he just talks to my nungas.

Mark was leery like a leering thing and he said, “Careful, Georgia, you don’t want to knock yourself out with your jugs.” And they all laughed.

Thank goodness I had worn my special sports nunga holder, or my “over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder”, as Rosie calls it. At least my basoomas were nicely encased. Anyway, ha di hahahaha to Mark Big Gob – nothing could upset me today because I was filled with the joyosity of young love.

I did stop skipping though, and walked off with a dignity-at-all-times sort of walk.

But Mark still hadn’t had his day; he shouted after me, “I’ll carry them to school for you if you like!”

He is disgusting. And a midget lover. I don’t know how I could have ever snogged him.