Читать книгу ‘Stop in the name of pants!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 74

We settled down in the shade underneath the big chestnut tree by the swings. The bees were singing and the birds a-buzzing, dogs scampering around, people eating ice creams, toddlers sticking ice creams in their eyes by mistake etc. A lovely, lovely summer afternoon, ideal to sort out the game of luuurve.

We had just passed round the chuddie and decided for Ellen where she should sit after about eight minutes of: “Well, erm, I should sit in the shade really, don’t you think, because of the ultraviolet, but, erm, what about, erm, not like getting the sun and then like maybe not getting enough vitamin D because that would be, like, not great. Or something.”

Finally she sat with her top part in the shade and her legs sticking in the sun because we told her no one had ever got cancer of the knees. Which might or might not be true, but sometimes (in fact, very often, in my experience) lying is the best policy. Especially if you can’t be arsed talking about something boring any more.