winter slump

I still can’t seem to get that plaster out of my mouth, but I can talk more coherently now. I was complaining to Mom today that my bath towel kept turning into a giant sponge. Mom just told me to go jump over a candlestick. Then she made fun of my robe and how the sponge towel was wrapped around my head, saying “You can wear that to school on Middle East day.” Little does she know my robe and towel happen to be the latest fashion trend from the Parisian dumpsters, and I have every intention of wearing that ensemble to school.

I stormed into the living room, where Dad was doing arm curls with a piece of firewood. After he strained his back, Mom gave him an “I told you so” slap in the face, and to vent his feelings he started pinching my cheek like a maniac. I told him to stop and he said, “Call me a maniac one more time and this cheek comes off and goes into my mouth.”

“Stop making fun of me, you badly-dressed weasel!” I screamed.

“She has no taste in clothes, honey,” Dad said to Mom.

“Maybe she hasn’t tasted enough clothes to be able to distinguish,” said Mom, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s feed her.”

Then my parents changed their minds and once again decided to eat me for a snack.

“Not with my turban,” I pleaded.

“Go get the pepper, honey,” Mom told Dad. “We’re going to have a feast. I’ll toss her in the fire.”

After they tasted me and whined that I tasted like cafeteria water, they decided to make me smile through my flute instead, while they sang, “One hundred gospel greats on the wall, one hundred gospel greats, sing one badly, drive people madly . . . .” Aargh! I still have that in my head!

Later I bit my tongue so hard while trying to pull a s’more apart that I cried.

While typing this up, the two halves of my brain have been fighting with each other.

Right Brain: I rule because I revel in mushy love.
Left Brain: I rule because I can calculate my superiority.

They both shut up once I turned on my new blow dryer. It’s so strong it can shove my mouth to one side.

post-Christmas stuff

Today was my first day back at school after break. Mrs. Sute (whom everyone laughs at because her name is Polly Esther) gave a bowl-cut to some guy who sat in front of me in tolerance class. She was scolding him, “Young man, the next time you don’t want the sides of your head shaved, try not making fun of my outfit.” She was wearing a bright pink suit, but I didn’t laugh much because I was still daydreaming about my vacation.

I still can't believe that after all the Christmas shopping I did, all I bought were some empty cardboard boxes and a mini-breadstick that I had mistaken for a toaster pastry crescent roll. Then on Christmas Eve I got my holidays confused and dressed up for Halloween instead. My parents and I spent Christmas Eve making dozens of hamburgers, absorbing the grease from the hamburgers by covering them with dish soap. I cleverly wrapped up my radio as a gift so Mom couldn’t tell I was listening to ButtLovers, whom she hates. Dad tried to hang foil stars in the window like he does every year, but I had deliberately moved the Christmas tree in the way of the window--tee hee! After Christmas I used our greeting card collection as toilet paper, but Mom made me wash them all and hang them out to dry.

The only interesting gift I received for Christmas is a lip liner pencil that I can also use as an eraser, but it makes my armpits sweat so much I've been constantly drying them by our fireplace. That's ok; I've been using my time by the fire to practice clawing like a cat in the absence of Whitey, whom I had to pawn off in order to buy presents. I'm getting pretty good at clawing too, though it keeps Jiff from trying to kiss me.