Read Online Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 07 by Startled by His Furry Shorts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Startled by His Furry Shorts
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous stories, People & Places, Juvenile Fiction, England, Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Europe, Love & Romance, Girls & Women, Adolescence, Emotions & Feelings, Diary fiction, Diaries, Interpersonal Relations in Adolescence
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outstropped her for once. Ha ha and double ha.
8:10 p.m.
Managed to eventually get the kitties off by spraying them with the shower attachment. I had to be careful to just focus the water on their heads and not get any on my jeans. They hate the idea of being clean and they leapt off sneezing and shaking like loonies and charged outside to roll in some fox poo or something.
8:30 p.m.
Perhaps heâs got a Stiff Dylans gig.
9:02 p.m.
Or perhaps Wet Lindsay was telling the truth and he does think I am pathetic but heâs sorry for me.
9:03 p.m.
Perhaps he is held up because he is telling Wet Lindsay that she looks like an octopus. I wish.
9:08 p.m.
Perhaps he is seeing her on a date? Oh noooooo.
Still girdey loins, girdey loins.
9:10 p.m.
I must consult with my boy manual How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You.
9:20 p.m.
Oh Godgoddygod, I have done the wrong thing!!! It says that you shouldnât let boys know that you want something because then they feel under pressure. Ohhhh noooo.
9:30 p.m.
Itâs true, isnât it? The rule with boys is glaciosity at all times. I remember when Dave the Laugh told me I had inadvertently displayed glaciosity to Masimo when I ran off when he asked for my phone number.
Oh I wish I could phone up the Hornmeister now.
I miss him.
Only in a matey way.
He hasnât said anything nice to me lately.
Although he did say âbad Sex Kitty.â
9:32 p.m.
He used to say that despite being certifiably insane I was a lovely, funny person.
And that is nice.
Just what a proper boy mate would say.
9:33 p.m.
But if he is just a boy mate, how come we got to No. 6?
9:34 p.m.
But my ad hoc and red bottomosity days are over. I will never feel Dave the Laughâs nip libbling technique again. Which is a shame. Shut up, shut up, voice of the Horn.
9:35 p.m.
I donât know why I am bothering giving up the horn in my head when in fact no one is asking me to betheir one and only girlfriend, anyway.
I may as well take off my makeup.
9:40 p.m.
No, why should I bother cleansing and toning? What is the point of having toned skin if there is no one there to say, âBlimey, your skin is toned. Will you be mine?â
downstairs
9:45 p.m.
I looked out of the front room window at the dark street. I may as well go to bed. Forever. I looked up at the dark sky. Surely there is some beardy bloke up there somewhere who cares about me? Maybe I should go to church more. My last visit was not what you would call an all-round success vis-Ã -vis the accidental pensioner inferno which, I must say, was a lot of fuss about nothing. The elderly can be vair hysterical. My votive candle merely set fire to the pensionerâs headscarf. She shouldnât have worn acrylic material, as itâs clearly a fire hazard. Even before that, I was having an unlaugh. In his sermon CallâMeâArnold the Vicar said, âWe all come into the world alone and go out of it alone.â
I donât know why he bothers going to church just to depress people.
9:46 p.m.
For once he is right, though. I am on my owney. All aloney.
9:48 p.m.
Now I really really am depressed. I am just looking out onto the dark void of life. The long, dark street of life, reaching into the distance of nothingosity.
Then I almost had a nervy spaz because Angus and Gordy suddenly appeared on the windowsill. They were doing pathetic meowing looking straight into my eyes through the window. Well, Angus was. They were opening their mouths and really wailing.
It was a sign. They had sensed my pain and been drawn toward my window of agony to give me comfort. They were wailing along with my inward wailing.
Except the funny thing was, I couldnât hear anything. I opened the window. And they went on doing the pathetic meowing and looking straight into my eyes. And I realized why I hadnât been able to hear them. They couldnât even be botheredmaking a noise. They were just doing pretendy
8:10 p.m.
Managed to eventually get the kitties off by spraying them with the shower attachment. I had to be careful to just focus the water on their heads and not get any on my jeans. They hate the idea of being clean and they leapt off sneezing and shaking like loonies and charged outside to roll in some fox poo or something.
8:30 p.m.
Perhaps heâs got a Stiff Dylans gig.
9:02 p.m.
Or perhaps Wet Lindsay was telling the truth and he does think I am pathetic but heâs sorry for me.
9:03 p.m.
Perhaps he is held up because he is telling Wet Lindsay that she looks like an octopus. I wish.
9:08 p.m.
Perhaps he is seeing her on a date? Oh noooooo.
Still girdey loins, girdey loins.
9:10 p.m.
I must consult with my boy manual How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You.
9:20 p.m.
Oh Godgoddygod, I have done the wrong thing!!! It says that you shouldnât let boys know that you want something because then they feel under pressure. Ohhhh noooo.
9:30 p.m.
Itâs true, isnât it? The rule with boys is glaciosity at all times. I remember when Dave the Laugh told me I had inadvertently displayed glaciosity to Masimo when I ran off when he asked for my phone number.
Oh I wish I could phone up the Hornmeister now.
I miss him.
Only in a matey way.
He hasnât said anything nice to me lately.
Although he did say âbad Sex Kitty.â
9:32 p.m.
He used to say that despite being certifiably insane I was a lovely, funny person.
And that is nice.
Just what a proper boy mate would say.
9:33 p.m.
But if he is just a boy mate, how come we got to No. 6?
9:34 p.m.
But my ad hoc and red bottomosity days are over. I will never feel Dave the Laughâs nip libbling technique again. Which is a shame. Shut up, shut up, voice of the Horn.
9:35 p.m.
I donât know why I am bothering giving up the horn in my head when in fact no one is asking me to betheir one and only girlfriend, anyway.
I may as well take off my makeup.
9:40 p.m.
No, why should I bother cleansing and toning? What is the point of having toned skin if there is no one there to say, âBlimey, your skin is toned. Will you be mine?â
downstairs
9:45 p.m.
I looked out of the front room window at the dark street. I may as well go to bed. Forever. I looked up at the dark sky. Surely there is some beardy bloke up there somewhere who cares about me? Maybe I should go to church more. My last visit was not what you would call an all-round success vis-Ã -vis the accidental pensioner inferno which, I must say, was a lot of fuss about nothing. The elderly can be vair hysterical. My votive candle merely set fire to the pensionerâs headscarf. She shouldnât have worn acrylic material, as itâs clearly a fire hazard. Even before that, I was having an unlaugh. In his sermon CallâMeâArnold the Vicar said, âWe all come into the world alone and go out of it alone.â
I donât know why he bothers going to church just to depress people.
9:46 p.m.
For once he is right, though. I am on my owney. All aloney.
9:48 p.m.
Now I really really am depressed. I am just looking out onto the dark void of life. The long, dark street of life, reaching into the distance of nothingosity.
Then I almost had a nervy spaz because Angus and Gordy suddenly appeared on the windowsill. They were doing pathetic meowing looking straight into my eyes through the window. Well, Angus was. They were opening their mouths and really wailing.
It was a sign. They had sensed my pain and been drawn toward my window of agony to give me comfort. They were wailing along with my inward wailing.
Except the funny thing was, I couldnât hear anything. I opened the window. And they went on doing the pathetic meowing and looking straight into my eyes. And I realized why I hadnât been able to hear them. They couldnât even be botheredmaking a noise. They were just doing pretendy
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