Читать книгу ‘…startled by his furry shorts!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 14

Being in the bakery of pain is vair vair boring. Ten past nine on a Saturday night and I am in my bedroom. Alone. I am in the prime of my – er – hornosity and joie de vivre and nothing is going on. Nothing.

It’s like a grave in this house. I…

Oh good, my darling little sister has kicked open my door and flung my cat Angus at me.

“HEGGGGOOO, Gingey!!! We is back. Heggo!!! Watch my panties dance. Sex bum, sex bum, am a sex bum!!!”

Oh dear Gott in Himmel. Angus was livid at being thrown, and once he’d stopped doing that cat sneezing and shaking thing he dug his claws into my ankle. Owwwwwww. Now I’m on the way to the cake shop of aggers with a gammy leg. Hurray!

Libby put her frock over her head and waggled her botty around like a pole dancer. Where does she see people doing these things?

They’ve just come back from the lunatic asylum, i.e., Grandad’s sheltered housing, so it will be something she has seen there. I’ve seen the residents in their so-called communal lounge. They pretend to play dominoes, but secretly they practise being mad. And probably prance around in their incontinence knickers.

Then Mum came mumming in and scooped up Bibbs. “Time for Boboland, young lady.”

Libby carried on singing and wiggling around in Mum’s arms, and then Mum noticed me. Being in my bedroom.

“What are you up to, Georgia? Why are you in here?”

I said, “Not that anyone notices, but this is actually my room. You know, for me to be in. I was in bed, as it happens.”

Mum said as she went out, “Oh, you must be sooo tired, all that lip gloss and mascara to carry round all day.”

Vair vair amusing. Not.