In three seconds two people asked me what my group was doing for book club. I find that amusing.

(I also have a new “lame chuckle”. I use it following the making of a lame joke. If no one gets the joke I’ll apologise and pointedly stare down at my table, as if I were wronged and had no idea how to correct that. Many people have fallen for my dastardly tricks. Don’t be next.)

I should go for more choir concerts. Choirs are great, really. Singing was one thing I fancied I could do before my voice broke (except I joined waterpolo instead, which is why I now wear a look of permanent bitterness; these guys even laughed at my haircut! Honestly.) (and really, my vocal range was so awesome in Sec One), after which I started humming low tunes to myself and pretending that I compared to, say, Josh Groban, except my voice grates on the steeliest of nerves, especially when I attempt to sing the worst of Avril Lavigne songs while struggling with a dropping skirt. But yeah, it’s a great gift, to be able to sing.

I mean, throwing a ball around, anybody can do that.


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