Читать книгу ‘Stop in the name of pants!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 93

I managed to get him off the phone by saying good morning to Libby (she purred back), and promising to visit and have a game of hide-and-seek with him and the other residents. I don’t mind that so much, as when it is my turn to hide I just go to the shops and then come back half an hour later and get in a cupboard. It keeps them happy for hours.

I do love my grandad though. He is one of the most cheerful people I know and now he is going to have Maisie as his new knitted wife. Aaaahhh.

Mum was wandering around in the kitchen like Madame Zozo of, erm, Zozoland. In a semi-see-through nightie. It’s her day off and she looked like she might settle in for hours. I must get rid of her.

I said in an interested and lighthearted fashion, “What time are you going out? In a minute or two? To make the best of the day?”

She sat down, actually resting her basoomas on the tabletop, presumably because she was already tired of lugging them about. Please save me from the enormous-jug gene.

She said, “I thought you and I could go out and do something groovy together.”

Groovy?

I said, “Mum, are you mad because I tell you this for free a) I am not going out with you and b) the same with knobs on.”

Mum said, “Hahaha, that worried you. Are you having a bit of a nervy spazmarama attack about Masimo ringing you?”

I was truly shocked. “Mum, it is not a nervy spazmarama, it is a spaz attack, which is number six on the losing it scale – hang on a minute. How do you know about a spaz attack anyway? Have you been snooping through my private drawers?”

She didn’t bother to reply because she was too busy eating jam with a spoon out of the jar. She will get so fat that she will get trapped in Dad’s clown car and have to drive endlessly up and down our driveway begging for snacks from passers-by. Good.

When she stopped chomping, she said, “Me and my mates have loads of sayings and stuff. We have a real laugh. It’s not just you and your mates, you know. I have a life.”

I tried not to laugh.

“In aquaerobics the other day Fiona laughed so much at the instructor’s choice of music that she weed herself in the pool. When she told me I nearly drowned. We had to all leave the class and I don’t think we can go back.”

She was hiccuping and giggling like a twerp. Is it any wonder that I find myself in trouble with boys when I have this sort of thing as my example?

I left the kitchen with a dignitosity-at-all-times sort of walk. I have a call from the cakeshop of luuurve to think about.