From the moment I woke up in the morning, I knew that the next twenty-four hours were gonna be LOOONG; today, I moved to Aunt Martha’s house across the street while my “family” [how are they my family if they can so easily dump me at a relative’s house and push off??] got ”readied up” for their trip to the beach. It was so bad watching them pack all the swimsuits, the sand shovel, the *sniff* iPad…
At around twelve o’clock, Aunt M came around and sat on one of the sofas. She looked like a walking death warranty.
After the ”family” had piled themselves into the car and driven off [after fawning over me and promising to treat me when they get back. Yeah, RIGHT!!], I was tugged all the way to Aunt Martha’s cottage. As I walked in, a sharp wave of old-person-smell hit me; sending me reeling. But I gathered my courage [I wasn’t named girl scout of the month ninety days running for nothing!] and after a while I guess I just learned to ignore the odour. That, or my nostril burnt out.
Other than that sad piece of news, there is nothing of much importance that I have to shar with y’all. Except for that I wrote yet another poem, this time based on what high-schoolers of today consider more important that homework; Fashion. Here, I’ll show you:
A day at the mall/ Fashion
Gucci bags, Chanel polish
Jimmy Choo’s to make you look tallish
Designer jeans for spirited teens
At dirt cheap rates, or so it seems
I’m shopping at the malls, with dazzling Dior stalls
Where a bejeweled girl bawls
For she didn’t get that last gold ring
The one that screamed an expensive ”KACHING!”
Thousands flock to the Louis Vuitton store
Customer wanting more and more
A US POLO shirt goes on sale
The price still makes my mother pale
WalMart clothes are for the un-trendy
People have places they’d rather be
Pink mufflers are sold in a flash
By the kid who waves his wad of cash
All this style-stuff makes me faint
I prefer ripped jeans with paint
So I rush out the mall, back to my room
Back to the place where my radio booms
I pull on my sweater from the pharmacy
And I think, ‘Boy, it’s really great being me!’
This definitely isn’t my best piece. Half of it doesn’t even RHYME. Well, almost half.
Spent all day trying to have a bite of the tempting hot dog that was placed teasingly close to my extra-sensitive-to-delicious-food-items snout. It was TORTURE. The next time Uncle Ben leaves a snack lying around, I’ll remind him to keep it someplace where I can actually REACH.