13.11.13, Wednesday, 3:23 pm

 Literary Competition News: Nil

Today SUCKED. Like, SO bad. Apparently it is not enough that we had a pop quiz in French AND had to spend two WHOLE hours running about the football field in our sickly P.E uniforms [is it just our school, or does every pair of P.E shorts ever created HAVE to be three inches thick??].

Apparently, THAT torture isn’t enough. Oh NO. So, instead of cutting us some slack after the morning’s suffering, the teacher’s [Ms Morgan and Ms Hamilton] decided that us girls should have a Girl Guide “Gathering” to discuss what we aimed to achieve during their remainder of this academic year. [Has no one HEARD about spending school hours STUDYING?? I don’t want to sound like the nerd or anything, but it is a fact that we haven’t spent a single hour in the past week actually learning something NEW. Except for the darn French test]

Of course, all we really ended up doing is sit in a hot, stuffy room and watch the lizard on the lamp give birth.

At the and of the hour, Ms Hamilton told us that we were going to learn how to:

1] Perform first-aid [in case disaster strikes]

2] Learn all the rules and regulations of Girl Guides [What rules and regulations??]

3] Cultivate the “true guide personality” [their words]

in the next five months.

How the HECK do they expect us to do all the above in FIVE MONTHS??????? All we’ve learned so far [so far=past year and a half] is how to wear our uniforms well. [And not even THAT well]

So when I asked Ms Hamilton about how exactly she planned to get about finishing off the aforementioned tasks in hardly any time, she got all huffy and snarly and mumbled something about students these days not knowing how to mind their own business.

So I was patiently waiting for her to finish her little speech when she gave me a startled look -like as if she didn’t see me there before- and then we got into a HUGE argument about today’s tweens and social etiquette.

A hell lot of good THAT did.

The worst part about our school’s Girl Guide club is that we don’t actually do the fun stuff, like sell cookies to kind old grandmas at their doorstep or go on hikes to dangerous parts of the enchanting wilderness.

Instead, we do all the boring stuff, like learn how to tie a reef knot. [How is tying a reef know going to improve my chance’s of getting into Oxford?? I mean, seriously???]

Looks like I’ve got to go. Daddy’s enrolling me at a three-day-crash-course of Pattern Mathematics because he wants me to spend my time doing something “creative.”

Yeah, dad. Whatever.

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