It Started with a Sad Song (The Diary of Bo)
Entry Five: June 26th, 2006
Entry Five: June 26th, 2006
Shopping is such a daunting task. I mean, if you do it alone, it’s actually all right, because you’ll usually be done in one-two-three. But when you do it with your mother, it’s completely different.
You think it would be okay, but NO! It’s terrible. She’s all, “Try this one.” “Try that on.” “Oh, this is cute!”. Ugh. Gag me.
We went to a department store about ten minutes away, and the first few minutes were not that bad. Mostly, because I was tuning Mum would with my MP3 player during the car ride, not really caring about soccer, or “the good old days”, or whatever it is parents talk about.
After twenty minutes of looking for shorts that fit correctly, Mum starting throwing different pairs at me. Most were the wrong size, and whatever was my previous pant size, didn’t fit. I feel so disgusted with myself because of it. If I went up a pant size, I have to be terribly large. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
We ended up getting millions of tee shirts (but not really), and only two pairs or shorts. Hopefully, they’ll look okay.
I saw the boy again today. It was starting to thunder outside, and he’d been writing in a little notepad under his overpass. He looked up once, and I got enough courage to wave at him, but he didn’t wave back. He smiled a crooked smile instead.
What does it mean when a boy smiles at you instead of waves? Does he like me? As a friend? More? Ooh, it’s too much!
I sort of wish I had a good girl friend to talk to. It’s pathetic to have to talk to a piece of paper about boys and “girl stuff.”
No offense.
Shopping is such a daunting task. I mean, if you do it alone, it’s actually all right, because you’ll usually be done in one-two-three. But when you do it with your mother, it’s completely different.
You think it would be okay, but NO! It’s terrible. She’s all, “Try this one.” “Try that on.” “Oh, this is cute!”. Ugh. Gag me.
We went to a department store about ten minutes away, and the first few minutes were not that bad. Mostly, because I was tuning Mum would with my MP3 player during the car ride, not really caring about soccer, or “the good old days”, or whatever it is parents talk about.
After twenty minutes of looking for shorts that fit correctly, Mum starting throwing different pairs at me. Most were the wrong size, and whatever was my previous pant size, didn’t fit. I feel so disgusted with myself because of it. If I went up a pant size, I have to be terribly large. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
We ended up getting millions of tee shirts (but not really), and only two pairs or shorts. Hopefully, they’ll look okay.
I saw the boy again today. It was starting to thunder outside, and he’d been writing in a little notepad under his overpass. He looked up once, and I got enough courage to wave at him, but he didn’t wave back. He smiled a crooked smile instead.
What does it mean when a boy smiles at you instead of waves? Does he like me? As a friend? More? Ooh, it’s too much!
I sort of wish I had a good girl friend to talk to. It’s pathetic to have to talk to a piece of paper about boys and “girl stuff.”
No offense.