4/4/2017

17 out of 20 people in my class failed the Maths test (including myself). Hailey says it’s our own fault. My Literature professor has chosen me to “make a brief introduction to The Miser for the class” for Thursday. In my eyes, the book is amazing. Too bad you can’t make “introductions” based on how much you like something. Too bad that you can’t only say, “But it’s truly great! I loved it. It’s a masterpiece.” Got a D on the Physics test. Some girls from my class asked me who I was going to share rooms with on our upcoming trip to Prague. I said I didn’t know. I’m worried about the whole thing. 

In the afternoon, I went to this shopping centre with Mum, my aunt, Bobby and his sister. The forty-five-minute-trip to the centre was excruciating. The children were annoying me so I couldn’t, surprisingly, focus on studying French (as I had thought I would’ve been able to do in a packed car of people who never stop talking). I had iced coffee with Mum. The service was great (my Mum even tipped the waiter which she never does). The waiter was polite, had nice skin and hands. My coffee sucked though. Later, on his shirt I saw a badge with a smiley face which said, “Still learning.”

I bought four pairs of knickers and a bra at H&M. I also visited Bershka and almost cried at the sight of their beautiful, fashionable, cutting-edge, EXPENSIVE clothing. I almost bought a thirty-pound windbreaker. By “almost” I mean I knew there was no way in hell of me getting it, but still asked Mum to get it for me. She asked if I was out of my mind.

Just when we were about to leave, Bobby started to cry and scream for no bloody reason. My aunt and mum kept complaining about men being selfish, lazy assholes. My aunt commanded me to get some bloody receipts stamped by a clerk at the info desk to be able to enter a car giveaway. He was a ginger. His nails were dirty, his voice was high. He said good luck. It’s so nice when a stranger tells you good luck.

At home, I did the laundry and wrote a review on a movie that I had seen last week – Pas son genre. One of the worst movies ever made. Of course it was for French class. Everything’s for French class.

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