Love Is for Losers Wibke Brueggemann (unputdownable books .TXT) 📖

nakedly show them around my naked vagina to point out my clitoris is absolutely horrendous.

Tuesday, March 20 #Diagrams

I’m still not obsessed, but I can’t stop thinking about the clitoris. (This sounds weirder than it should.)

The Illustrated Medical Dictionary describes the clitoris as “a small, erectile organ.” How grim does that make it sound? I reckon Tristan isn’t ignorant, just afraid of it, because a “small, erectile organ” doesn’t sound fun at all. But that’s all I’m saying in his defense, because if he’d looked at a diagram, he’d know that it really is nowhere near where the penis goes.

Maybe I’ll talk to Polly after all.

PS: Mum sent an email. They’re finally where they need to be.

PPS: Alex sold the chocolate fondue set. Turns out offering people random shit at the till does work.

Wednesday, March 21 #KillMeNow

Gastroporn James from the Goat is on Easter break from uni and apparently has promised Kate to help at the thrift shop every day next week.

Oh God. It’ll be like the saga of Polly and Tristan all over again, except this time with grown-ups.

Thursday, March 22 #SilenceIsGoldenExceptWhenItsNot

I now know why it’s so difficult to find out things about Emma. Apart from her seemingly inactive Instagram.

It’s a clever little thing she does, and I basically hadn’t noticed it until today when I was listening to her talking to a customer. By the time he left the shop, Emma had learned the following:

He’s called Ian.

He used to work for National Rail.

He has three children who all still live locally; one is a teacher, one drives a black cab, and one is a radiologist at St. George’s.

He has four grandchildren and a great-grandchild on the way.

He supports Tottenham and holds a season ticket.

He’s been divorced for eighteen years, but is hoping to find love again (blech!).

And here’s what Ian learned about Emma:

She’s called Emma.

How is this possible?

Is it rocket science?

No, but it is genius: Emma conducts a conversation. She’s in charge of it, she’s the puppetmaster. So, note to self: If you don’t want people to know anything about you, you have to be the one with all the questions.

Seriously, Emma’s so brilliant at it you don’t even realize she’s doing it.

I’m going to try her own trick on her on Saturday.

PS: I really hope the casual racist comes back to the shop, because we received the most brilliant donation possibly ever, which meant it got immediately fast-tracked to donation of the week. It’s Jesus on the cross. And because it’s really good quality, we’re asking for twenty-five pounds, which I think is fair.

So guess what happened at the till?

Alex: Can we tempt you with Jesus on the cross?

Friday, March 23 #EasterBreak

Today was the last day of school before the Easter break, and I was just like: Okay, I’m going to have to talk to Polly about the clitoris, because I’m not going to see her for, like, three weeks, and then the topic will have totally lost its momentum. Also, I wanted to prove to her that I was listening, and that I do still care about her and want her to be happy, even though I despise her boyfriend and she’s erased me from her life like it’s nothing.

So at lunch I walked over to her and Tristan, and I was like: “Can I talk to you for five minutes?”

Tristan looked proper put out, but I was just like: “Sorry, mate,” and then I led Polly away by her elbow.

Polly: What is it? Are you okay?

Me: You need to tell him about the clitoris.

Polly: Excuse me?

Me: You have to tell Tristan about the clitoris. He’s clearly missing it. And I don’t think the penis is designed to do much with it, or to it, and so you have to show him something else.

Polly: Are you insane?

Me: What? No, honestly, him finding the clitoris will help.

Polly: Fuck off, Phoebe, this isn’t about the clitoris. Besides, that’s not the only way to make a woman come.

Me:…

Polly: Why do you have to be so condescending all the time? You act like everyone is stupid apart from you. Maybe I didn’t want an instruction manual. And maybe I know about the clitoris. But maybe I just wanted someone to talk to.

And then she just left me standing there.

In an ideal world, I would have shouted: “Don’t be pissed off with me, I’m not the one who’s shit in bed.”

But obviously I’m not a bitch.

PS: It’s clearly about the clitoris.

Saturday, March 24 #BillAndMelanie

I was at the thrift shop all day today.

Emma and I got so much done, and at one point she was like: “I think we should come in every day over the Easter break and properly sort this place out,” and I was like: “I’m up for it. That’s such a good idea.”

Except, of course, it’s a terrible idea, because:

a)  It means spending a whole week with Kate and James, which is basically the one thing I wanted to avoid at all costs.

b)  If I’m at the shop five hours every day, that’s five hours of GCSE studying I’m not doing.

Oh man.

And yes, I agree the stockroom needs a good clear out, but part of me is absolutely horrified about what might be lurking under all those bin bags.

Who actually knows how long some of them have been there? It could be twenty years, because what seems to be happening at the moment is us just going through the new stuff that’s on the top. There could be bodies under there.

The other week there was an article in the Metro about an actual dead cat that was found in a donated sofa.

Bill and Melanie brought in pictures of their trip to the Middle East today. They hate Christmas, but instead of complaining about it, they always go away somewhere it doesn’t exist.

I obviously love them.

It’s also really cute that they went to Boots to physically print off pictures, because who still does that?

Bill (taking off his hat, then taking Pat’s hand