Read Online Don't Even Think About It by Roisin Meaney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roisin Meaney
Ads: Link
history, which was first thing after break on Monday, did nothing to cheer me up.
By the time Dad arrived I was feeling a tiny bit better,so we decided that he’d bring me home and we’d wait a while to see if I needed the doctor. It was only when I got home and went to the bathroom that I discovered what was wrong. At least I was glad it wasn’t my appendix about to burst all over the place.
I knew all about periods since fifth class. A woman came to the school one day and took the girls and boys off in separate groups, and showed us some seriously embarrassing posters, and packs of sanitary towels and stuff.
And the boys sure were quiet when they came back from
their
talk, which made a pleasant change.
So I understood what was happening, but now I had a pretty big problem, because I had no stuff. I hadn’t bought any sanitary towels, and of course Dad hadn’t either. That was definitely the kind of thing mams did. So I managed the best I could with some toilet paper and then I went downstairs, still holding on to my stomach, which was twisting away like mad again, and I told Dad that I needed him to go and get me some sanitary towels.
I was totally mortified – could hardly look at him – but I had to tell someone, and he was all I had. And I’m sure he was just as mortified.
He swallowed a bit and sort of mumbled, ‘OK, go and lie down and I’ll sort it out.’ So I hobbled back upstairs and just waited, curled up with my arms wrapped around my legs because that was the only position that I could bear. I was sorry I hadn’t filled a hot water bottle when I was downstairs, but it seemed like too much trouble to go down again.
And about twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door, and when I said, ‘Come in,’ the door opened and in walked Marjorie Baloney.
And I have to be totally honest here and say that I was kind of glad to see her.
Only because she was female, of course, and because this was the kind of thing that really needed a female.
She looked at me with a kind of worried smile on her face, and said, ‘You poor thing,’ and then she pulled a packet of sanitary towels out of a bag she was carrying. I just took them and legged it to the bathroom, and when I came back to my room a few minutes later she was gone.
But there was a hot water bottle in my bed, and in the bag she left behind I found a bunch of magazines, a big bar of Dairy Milk, a packet of Tylenol and two cans of ginger ale. Oh, and a bar of White Musk soap. How did she know I liked White Musk?
So now I’m sitting in bed with the hot water bottle pressed to my stomach, which has calmed down a lot. I do feel a bit sick, but that’s probably because I’ve eaten three-quarters of the bar of Dairy Milk and drunk all the ginger ale.
When I’ve finished reading the magazines, I’ll be able to trade them at school.
Maybe I won’t call her Marjorie Baloney any more. That was kind of nice, what she did today. And I suppose I’ll have to stop pretending not to see her across the road.
But she is still not getting my Dad – no way. The parent-teacher meetings are on next week, and I’mpretty sure Dad and Miss Purtill will like each other.
Not that I want him to end up with
her
either, though – I just don’t want him to get stuck with the same friend all the time. It’s good for him to get out of the house now and again, and if he took turns with Marjorie and Miss Purtill, then neither of them could get the wrong idea.
My stomach has just started cramping again. Being a woman sucks. Maybe if I finish off the chocolate it’ll help.
Bet Ruth Wallace hasn’t started her period yet. She’s such a baby.
Five past seven, Tuesday, beginning of December.
OK, first the good news. I got great reports from all the teachers at the parent-teacher meetings. Even Mr O’Connor who teaches history, and who keeps telling me that I’ll never make a historian, said I was a very likeable and outgoing girl, which I thought was
By the time Dad arrived I was feeling a tiny bit better,so we decided that he’d bring me home and we’d wait a while to see if I needed the doctor. It was only when I got home and went to the bathroom that I discovered what was wrong. At least I was glad it wasn’t my appendix about to burst all over the place.
I knew all about periods since fifth class. A woman came to the school one day and took the girls and boys off in separate groups, and showed us some seriously embarrassing posters, and packs of sanitary towels and stuff.
And the boys sure were quiet when they came back from
their
talk, which made a pleasant change.
So I understood what was happening, but now I had a pretty big problem, because I had no stuff. I hadn’t bought any sanitary towels, and of course Dad hadn’t either. That was definitely the kind of thing mams did. So I managed the best I could with some toilet paper and then I went downstairs, still holding on to my stomach, which was twisting away like mad again, and I told Dad that I needed him to go and get me some sanitary towels.
I was totally mortified – could hardly look at him – but I had to tell someone, and he was all I had. And I’m sure he was just as mortified.
He swallowed a bit and sort of mumbled, ‘OK, go and lie down and I’ll sort it out.’ So I hobbled back upstairs and just waited, curled up with my arms wrapped around my legs because that was the only position that I could bear. I was sorry I hadn’t filled a hot water bottle when I was downstairs, but it seemed like too much trouble to go down again.
And about twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door, and when I said, ‘Come in,’ the door opened and in walked Marjorie Baloney.
And I have to be totally honest here and say that I was kind of glad to see her.
Only because she was female, of course, and because this was the kind of thing that really needed a female.
She looked at me with a kind of worried smile on her face, and said, ‘You poor thing,’ and then she pulled a packet of sanitary towels out of a bag she was carrying. I just took them and legged it to the bathroom, and when I came back to my room a few minutes later she was gone.
But there was a hot water bottle in my bed, and in the bag she left behind I found a bunch of magazines, a big bar of Dairy Milk, a packet of Tylenol and two cans of ginger ale. Oh, and a bar of White Musk soap. How did she know I liked White Musk?
So now I’m sitting in bed with the hot water bottle pressed to my stomach, which has calmed down a lot. I do feel a bit sick, but that’s probably because I’ve eaten three-quarters of the bar of Dairy Milk and drunk all the ginger ale.
When I’ve finished reading the magazines, I’ll be able to trade them at school.
Maybe I won’t call her Marjorie Baloney any more. That was kind of nice, what she did today. And I suppose I’ll have to stop pretending not to see her across the road.
But she is still not getting my Dad – no way. The parent-teacher meetings are on next week, and I’mpretty sure Dad and Miss Purtill will like each other.
Not that I want him to end up with
her
either, though – I just don’t want him to get stuck with the same friend all the time. It’s good for him to get out of the house now and again, and if he took turns with Marjorie and Miss Purtill, then neither of them could get the wrong idea.
My stomach has just started cramping again. Being a woman sucks. Maybe if I finish off the chocolate it’ll help.
Bet Ruth Wallace hasn’t started her period yet. She’s such a baby.
Five past seven, Tuesday, beginning of December.
OK, first the good news. I got great reports from all the teachers at the parent-teacher meetings. Even Mr O’Connor who teaches history, and who keeps telling me that I’ll never make a historian, said I was a very likeable and outgoing girl, which I thought was
Similar Books
