Читать книгу ‘Stop in the name of pants!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 57

In the end Mum made me go across the road and ask Mr Across the Road if we could borrow some butter. She said I could lie better.

Mr Across the Road was wearing a short nightshirt and I kept not looking anywhere below his chin. He was all nosey about the late-night butter scenario though.

“Doing a bit of baking, are you?”

I said, “Er… yes.”

“It’s a bit late to start, isn’t it?”

I said, “Er, well, it’s emergency baking. It has to be done by tomorrow.”

He said, “Oh, what are you making?”

How the hell did I know? I was lying. And also the only kind of confectionery I knew were the cakes I had got from the bakery of love. The Robbie éclair, the Masimo cream horn and then I remembered the Dave the Tart scenario and quickly said, “Erm, we’re making tarts. For the deaf. It’s for charity.”

He said, “Tarts for the deaf? That’s a new one on me. I’ll have to go down to the storeroom for some packets.” And he ambled off.

And that is when Junior Blunder Boy and full-time twit came in. Oscar.

He looked at me and said, “Yo, wa’appen, bitch?”

What was he talking about and also what was he wearing? He had massive jeans on about fifty sizes too big for him. He had to sort of waddle about like a useless duck to keep them from falling down. And pull them up every five seconds. How spectacularly naff and sad he was. I just looked at him as he waddled over to the kitchen counter. He reached up to get a can of Coca-Cola from a shelf and momentarily forgot about his elephant jeans. They fell to his ankles. Leaving him standing there in his Thomas the Tank Engine undercrackers.

I said to him, “Oscar, you are wearing Thomas the Tank Engine undercrackers. I know this because, believe it or not, your trousers have fallen off.”

He said, “Yes man, me mean to do that. Be cool, it is righteous.” And he shuffled off, still with the trousers round his ankles.

I will never, ever tire of the sheer bonkerosity of boydom.