It’s March already. The next thing I know, I’ll be at Grad Night, feeling awkward and self-conscious and looking cool and unperturbed.
The ERP guys (sans Shanzhi) stayed over at my house. Okay, it’s official: my house is a ho-tel. Knock yourself out in it, videocam and Pills That Look Suspiciously Like Ecstasy not included.
We spent time talking about everything. Every conversation inevitably goes back to the class, school, how we suck, girlfriends. Whatever. I like talking. It makes me think I am doing something about my situation.
I slept six hours last night. Go, me!
This morning, my mom and I were in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. At the door were five or six girls in uniform. They looked eleven or twelve.
“Hi aunty, we’re from St Nicholas Girls’ School!” They mention something about newspapers. My mother goes to get the newspapers, which I hand to them.
Mom: “Do you accept clothes too?”
Mom: “What’s this for? The Salvation Army?”
Girls: “Uh… no.”
Mom: “Then what’s it for?”
Girl: “Uh, recycling. It’s to save the earth.”
-Girls giggle to themselves-
Girl: “Yeah, it’s to, uh, protect the environment.”
Mom: “You’re going to recycle my clothes? I might as well give the clothes to the Salvation Army, right!”
They leave with our newspapers and a very small bag of clothes. Ha! Bullshitting got them nowhere!
(admittedly, it was something I would have said.)