The Way Things Happen

 
 
The Male of The Species
 
My father for all his wonderful attributes can sometimes be called stupid. It appears that the higher the IQ, the less likely is a person to be able to step outside of narrowly defined paths.

Such it was when Daddy inadvertently let the cat out of the bag. He did it with his usual aplomb — to the one I really didn’t want to know. The headmistress.

I had gotten over the huge rainbow that Julie had flung at me and had achieved ground level without serious injury to my greatly enlarged head.

Then the usual meeting with the parents and teachers at mid term reared its head and I felt that I needed to be there to make sure all was indeed Ok as I was led to believe — Hey, anxiety and neuroses go hand in hand with paranoia — didn’t you know?

It was really a bit early in the term, but because we were doing the ‘O’ level year we got to be the first to go through the mill about the future and how we were coping.

Yes, that night of nights, thrill of thrills — the night where your IQ and parents expectations are weighed in the balance. Parent/Teacher night. I almost convinced Mum and Dad that it wasn’t much use going since I was not going to complete the year, but they insisted saying that the thing they wanted to do was chat to the teachers and see how well I was integrating (no, not the maths teacher type integrating, the social skills type girly thing).

“We’ll be there at 4pm as scheduled on my diary,” Daddy was never late so I didn’t have a second thought - 4 pm it was.

I didn’t worry all day, simply come in, meet the teachers and take me home after being told what a wonderful student I was.

The headmistress had apparently put out a special request to my housemistress (Miss Watts) that she would love to meet my folks.

So 4 pm arrived there they were, waiting in the rec room. I took them round to each teacher in turn and they all said what a nice young lady I was and how polite and how much of an impression I’d made on the younger ones in my first term and so on and so forth.

Miss Watts was last and mum was gossiping like mad with her catching up on the whole thing when the Head came into the room — Millie looked up and saw her and waved and she made a bee line for us.

“Headmistress, I’d like you to meet the parents of our new fifth form student Jenny Holland. Beth and John Holland, this is our headmistress Janette Bates.” Mum stretched out her hand and it was clasped warmly by the Head. “I’m so glad to make your acquaintance Mrs Holland, your girl is such a wonderful addition to our student body, where was she before?”

Wait for it…. “King Edward’s Grammar” said my dear daddy. The look on everyone’s face and the silence that ensued made that small name seem like an express train mixing it with a airliner. My face looked like something Wallace and Grommet would be proud of. Miss Watts went a strange shade of grey — being as how she was the one who altered the books a bit. And Dad’s face crumpled like a tissue thrown into a hot fire. Mum just went a bit green and stopped breathing for an hour or two.
“Oh? Tell me Mr Holland, how long has King Edwards been taking girls?” That last syllable was hurled out in a rather harsh and clattering manner that meant she was not amused.

“ Don’t tell me you don’t know where your wonderful little girl went before she arrived here?” She looked down her nose at my father.

“Oh of course, Nigel went there didn’t he?” Father squirmed like a worm on a hook,

“Daddy!” I smacked him on the arm playfully as if chiding him– “it was St Margaret’s you should remember that, you used to have to take me when it was raining because the bus stop didn’t have a shelter.” (I’d done my research)

Mum rolled her eyes and Millie decided ignoring the fact was the best bet.

“Mr Holland, it has been the case often enough in my experience that fathers do not take sufficient interest in their female offspring. It seems this is the case now, though your dear daughter doesn’t feel offended by your lack of interest. I, however, am appalled and I think you should be upbraided for your singular lack of fatherly care.”

Dad spluttered and kept very quiet–we all did.

“Mrs Holland, you have my sympathy, good day to you both.” The stiff view of her back was the last daddy ever saw of her–he wasn’t game to meet her again.

When she had safely departed, we all started grinning then giggling then full blown laughing until we all shushed each other as other parents were filtering into the room.

Daddy was so apologetic, I got the most wonderful meal at the Italian restaurant and even my own glass of wine.

“God John, you almost blew it, and we’ve been so careful. We avoided telling her because she’s a member of the far right God squad conservatives and believes in binary gender and total heterosexuality.”

Dad looked at me and reached out his hand across the table, “Little Jenny, I promise you that I will endeavour never to open my mouth without thinking ever again. What I did was unforgivable and I am contrite to the point of self loathing. I nearly jeopardised your future by engaging mouth before putting my brain into gear. I am sorry.” His eyes shone with that light that means everything to the person to whom it is directed. I gripped his hand and held it to my chest.

“I love you daddy,” was all I could say.
Disaster averted.

I just hope that there are no more slip ups where the Head is concerned, once is a mistake, twice is a red card and third time, you’re sent off.

School is a magic place if you’re liked and a miserable place if you’re not. For some it is the temple of learning, for others seemingly a waste of precious hours of freedom.
The difference also can be contained in a few ideologies — that of single gender schooling, goal oriented learning and the philosophy of continuance.
In 1980 all these things were changing. The students became pawns in the state dictated changes. Comprehensive education which the Socialists thought up. Corporal punishment abolishment — also a socialist dictate that went along with the new teach the air and whatever settles on the children will drive them like a thirst to knowledge. Pure bunkum which is slowly eroding the greatness of British education.

Continuance was abandoned — change became the watchword and the students became confused.

When a body of people become confused, it turns to chaos and unless someone with a sense of order is in charge, Brownian motion takes over. The students spend more time bouncing off ideas than actually learning anything. We were fortunate in that a lot of our teachers were old school and taught the same stuff no matter what was in the new statute books.

No boy would ever sully the halls of our school except in “6th form privileges” where once a month they had a disco and a film night for the 6th form of the boys grammar school — my old school. The film was usually an educational thing and the disco was educational too but only for the attendees as it was after hours and only for 6th form.
Which I wasn’t of course.

We did occasionally see that some of the 6th formers were experimenting sexually with their peers as we were nauseated by things left behind in quiet places. It wasn’t easy to ignore as the juniors used to giggle and squeal and poke sticks at them. It was usually wise to let someone on the 6th form committee know ASAP so they could take decent steps to clear up.

It did make for some crude jokes though and I was surprised that the girls were equally as crude as the guys were in that respect. I was intrigued enough to be curious about who was ‘getting it on’ in somewhere as regimented as a girls’ high school.

It was pretty easy to tell as the sixth formers were all party to who was drilling who and all you had to do was hang out in a toilet stall and keep your feet off the floor (there was a gap under the doors so you could see feet if it was occupied — occupied meant you didn’t chat about sensitive stuff; little pigs have big ears.)

It appeared that Rachel, one of Jemima’s offsiders, was one of the regular offenders. Which was not surprising really. She was pretty average and had a mouth full of metal like Jaws. I guess kissing her would be like chewing a mouthful of meccano. Not that I really felt like kissing girls much these days — all that seemed to have taken a back seat to the guys - I realised that my dreams of being locked in a girls’ changing room were now more of a nightmare rather than an erotic fantasy.

The converse wasn’t true either — being locked in a male changing room was something of a sickening memory of disgusting smells and poor taste in jokes and underwear. Much the same as being in a guys toilet. I was never so pleased as the first time I went in a ladies’ toilet in a pub and found a piece of soap in the sink and a stack of clean tissues and even a bit of carpet.

The male toilets were more like the wart hog wallow, stainless steel urinals of dubious cleanliness — some strange crystal doughnuts that were hung or just dropped in the bottom — presumably made from camphor and covered up the smell of male urine.
The most sickening part is somewhat a part of any household that contains males in quantity. Semi dried flecks all around any surface at which a guy points himself when relieving the pressure.

In a public toilet, this could be any and all parts of the room, so the floor would be sort of semi dried and stinking. A memory I would rather purge.

Any tissues would be liberally strewn around and unusable. Any bin, full to overflowing.

I hold these truths to be unfalteringly true, all men are pigs in their own space. Sad but true.

Which is course why we find these execrable things scattered around the grounds after 6th form day.

Men smell funny too because the school feels odd and charged with an odd atmosphere the next day. Particularly the Social centre where the meetings take place.
This is something I didn’t notice at home because Daddy and Nigel have always been there.

So the social and educational element of school was in flux and not all the staff were pleased it was so. Partitions went up and it seemed that the top streams were seen as elitist and the lower streams contained the no hopers. Considering this school had the best students in the county, it was a foolish notion but it was something that was allowed to permeate to create a competitive edge to the curriculum.

I knew this existed at the boys school but it was accepted that the cleverer boys would go to the best universities and the others would become the craftsmen and middle managers of the real world.

In a girls school, the energy is different and the realisation that we would all be marrying and having babies at some point — made things less distinctive.

I was a newbie in every way, new to girldom, new to this culture of change and new to the way girls operated in a learning environment — it felt strange but wonderful — I was free to grow mentally and I found my interests changing and my mind budding like a flower.

I wanted to help everyone and I wanted to be liked.

This didn’t always happen. Jemima had become a real enemy and Miss Watts was glad that Sophi wasn’t part of her coven any more. I wondered about Jemima until I realised that she had no home life — her parents were high achievers and her life was called a latch-key existence, she went home let herself into an empty home and waited for the rest of the family to get home — whereupon some form of meal would be prepared and eaten then everyone would disperse to do their thing.

For a teenage girl this could be disaster — for Jemima it was.

Rachel it appeared was not the only one that was making out with the boys and Jemima’s frequent rushes to the toilet and porcelain worshipping in the mornings soon had her pegged as a prospective teen mother.

Her parents took her out of school during the autumn term — and she wasn’t seen again.

Peace returned to the school. Threats were made and the appearance of prophylactics became a very unusual occurrence.

At weekends we (Carol, Wendy and I) would often sally forth into town and after coffee at ‘Grounds’ we’d do some shopping in the local department stores and get ogled at by the lads gathered in town centre and do all the things young girls did. Things I had to learn.

One day as we left ‘Grounds’ three lads were just about to come in, they gave us a leer and an hello and followed us up the street with their eyes until we were out of earshot and they went inside.

I found this to be a hoot and usually when this happened I’d flirt a bit or wiggle my bum like a ‘bad’ girl. This time I nearly died. One of the guys was the guy I used to sit next to in class. Friends of David and Tony. The others I recognised as his brother and his cousin.

I hoped he hadn’t recognised me — for some reason I’d pretty much gotten away with being recognised (even by my brother) as my old self — I guess you see what you expect to see if it’s girl shaped and cute, it’s unlikely to be the guy you sat next to in school.

We’d sallied down the road apiece when I realised the lads had come out of the café and were now about 50 yards behind us and gaining.

“What do we do?” I started to panic.

“Quick, in here,” Carol grabbed my arm and pushed Wendy ahead of her — into the local swimming baths. “The toilets have an exit on the other street,” she declared as she used Wendy to barge open the door to the rest rooms just as the boys entered the baths behind us.
We ran through the toilets and exited immediately into the street on the other side, hoping the boys would wait for a while before giving up.
We headed straight into the Shopping Arcade next to the baths and lost ourselves in the nearest ladies fashion shop.

We kept an eye out for the lads but we didn’t see them again.

As we headed for home on the bus, Wendy reached for my hand and clasped it in hers. “Look Jenny, we don’t mind covering for you and we love having you as a friend, but you need to lower your guard a bit or we’ll never get boyfriends this year!”

I looked Wendy in the eye and could see she was concerned for me but a little mad at me too. “Sorry - really, I am just so scared that my past will catch up with me. I know those guys and they would see through me quite quickly if they spent time with me.”

I realised then that I had to bite the bullet and work out a strategy — I liked guys and I think I would really like a boyfriend, the reality was I was carrying baggage and I needed to dump it quick.

“What can I do, you’ve got to help me — I don’t know how to be with guys as a girl.”
Carol looked at me and I could see the compassion in her eyes but the firm line of her jaw told me that she was also getting weary of protecting me.

“I think we should find you a guy who doesn’t know you and you can date for a while to get you up to speed. We’re not really that far ahead and we have problems too, but we’re not paranoid.” Carol explained, carefully avoiding being too harsh with her tone.

Wendy nodded in agreement, “I think that’s a great idea, I don’t think we’d have too much trouble finding you a beau, then we can get some for ourselves.”

“You mean you’re going to try to find me a guy before you look for one for yourselves?” I asked carefully, thinking I’d misheard. These aren’t friends, they’re heroines, angels. “God, you’re really ace pals to have around.”

I felt really loved. “Do I have right of veto?”

“Of course, you silly moo. We’re not going to throw you to the wolves or some spotty individual. We’re going to find you a nice boy with good manners. If such a thing exists.” She added grinning ruefully.

“Oops, our stop next.” Carol reached for the bell and we got up and collected our stuff ready to alight.

After I got home and changed into something more comfortable for the evening, I sat in the kitchen peeling spuds with mum.

“How can I tell if a boy is nice mum?”

“Whoa there husky, where did that come from? Have you found someone you like already?” Mum’s eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline and the knife and spud hovered as she stared at me.

“Nooo, course not, I just wondered how you could tell if a guy was nice.” I grinned at mums face and she visibly relaxed.

“Thank the Lord, I’m not sure I’m ready to be the mother of a teenage daughter so soon!” She returned to the spud, twisting out the eyes with a practised flip of the knife.

“Well I suppose it is best to get to know someone a bit first like become a friend before you become a girlfriend. Join a club perhaps that has boys in and see if someone with a common interest takes your fancy.” She smiled at me “That’s how I met your dad; we both liked cycling.”

“Cycling? You haven’t got a bike between you.” I looked at her incredulously.
“That was nearly 20 years ago pet and we threw the bikes out when Nigel was 5, you’d have been 2. They were so heavy, and so old fashioned.”

“So are you mum,” I grinned at her and she nearly threw the spud at me.
I thought about what she said as I lay in bed later, a club to join where guys might also be. I’ll have to discuss with the girls. I rolled over and drifted off into slumber.

I awoke with a sore chest, I’d rolled onto my front and the pressure on my new anatomy was quite uncomfortable. Like an ache. I sat up and the pain diminished as the circulation recovered. I like them, but they aren’t what I thought they’d be. I thought I might play with them a lot, but they just are… they’re really not any more than part of my chest… I wonder what boys think of them?

I slipped on a robe and headed off to the toilet. Without Nigel there, there was no hurry to get in front of him or anything. So I dallied and had a nice long shower and washed my hair and shaved my legs and did all those things that were starting to become part of my routine.

Suddenly the door opened and dad walked in still with is eyes half shut — saw me and leapt backwards into the passage pulling the door after him. “Jenny, you MUST lock the door sweetie, I don’t want a heart attack!” I heard him gasp as he recovered outside the door.
“Sorreee, won’t happen again.” I was bright red from head to toe. I know because I could see every inch of me..

Wendy met me at the bus stop as usual and I could see from the precious smirk on her face that she’d got something up her sleeve besides her arms.
“Morning, girlfriend,” she leered, with a grin that showed all her teeth.

“Ok, ok, what’re you scheming?”

“N-o-othing,” she inspected her nails holding her arms at length.

“Oh yes you are, I’ve never seen anything more obvious, spill the beans Wendy.”

“Oh alright spoilsport, I just realised last night that you haven’t met Michael.”

“Michael?”

“Carol’s father’s mechanic’s apprentice.”

“Say that again without moving your lips, I dare you.”

“He works at that garage where what’s-her-face lives — Fletcher’s”

“Who does?”

“This apprentice mechanic called Michael, he’s really sweet and..”

“Hold it one minute, missy. If this is a prospective date, I have no intention of going out with a guy with grease under his fingernails that smells like a sump full of old oil.”

“Well that’s settled then.”

“Right.” I said relieved and annoyed at the same time.

“So you’ll go out with him?”

“I just said no, didn’t I?

“No, you said you wouldn’t go out with a guy with dirty nails and a smell of old oil. Am I right?”

“Exactly.”

So, Michael doesn’t smell of old oil nor does he have dirty nails — he’s a Virgo and as fastidious as a Surgeon.”

“He’s not gay is he?”

“No, he most certainly is not, he’s the owner’s son and working his way up the business.”

At this point the bus arrived and we stopped talking long enough to get on.

There was only one seat and Wendy took it. I stood next to her, strap hanging.

“What makes you think he’ll want to go out with a 5th former even if he’s as nice as you say and I find I fancy him?” I bent over and asked quietly so that the whole bus didn’t get to know the news.

“I asked him last night, and he said yes.”

“WHAT!!??” I said, rather louder than the background noise of jack hammers and pumping machinery that we were passing. Almost loud enough to break windows actually.

“You did what?” I repeated in an anxious whisper as the rest of the occupants of the bus went back to their newspapers and late homework.

“Don’t sound so ungrateful, he’s really cute and available.”

“So why aren’t you going out with him then?”

“Not my type — he’s a bit geeky for me, but you’ll like him, honest. I’ve known him for years, he used to live near Carol until he got his own place in town.”

I could just picture myself getting invited into his lair and being unable to refuse as my friends wandered off into the night with their boyfriends.

“No no no no no and no,” I started to panic as my mind went into overdrive imagining all sorts of goings on and more importantly — comings off.

“His own place?” I hissed at her, “what are you thinking?”

“Well, at the moment I’m thinking about getting off, we’re here.”

The bus hissed to a halt and we all got off and traipsed in the damp air into the muggy school, all of a sudden it felt claustrophobic and limiting. I’d just been set on my heels by my friend virtually sealing my fate without my say so.

“Look Wendy, I know you mean well,” I told her as we sat in assembly waiting for the bell to ring. “But I’m not ready to do this, you’re frightening me.” I felt the tears stinging the back of my eyes, “Please Wendy, please don’t make me.”

Wendy looked at me and realised all at once what she had done.

“Oh my God Jen, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to do something, I just thought you were looking for someone to date. I just realised, you’re out of your depth and I wasn’t helping.”

She put her arm round my shoulders as I shuddered a couple of times — I reached into my bag and pulled out a tissue and blew my nose, wiping the tear surreptitiously from my eye at the same time.

“Give me a minute, I’ll be ok. It’s just a shock to suddenly realise that I’m on the other side of the fence now — prey instead of hunter.”

Wendy looked at me and raised he eyebrows, “Oh babe, how wrong can you get.”

“We’re the hunters, not the hunted. We take what we want and throw the rest back.”

I looked at her and realised that I didn’t really know anything about being a girl.

I spent most of the day weighing up what Wendy said about the hierarchy of mankind.
Some of it made sense, some of it appeared at first glance to be absolute idiocy.

How can meek little women control big hunks with masses of muscle? Well when I actually thought about it, I started to giggle which was not the best thing to do in the middle of Maths. A glare from the teacher was enough to stifle my humour.

“It’s just a matter of controlling one muscle isn’t it?” I said to Wendy and Carol as we ate lunch.

Wendy snorted and almost lost the sandwich she was chewing. Carol coloured up and swallowed hard before she stared at me like I was naked.

“Well now you mention it,” Carol started and both of them cracked up like demented goons, cackling like geese.

“Jeez Jen, you sure have away with words.” Wendy drew a huge lungful of air in through her nose to settle her hiccoughs. “Well that’s got to be the most concise guide to mastery of the male of the species.”

“And you’re probably right,” added Carol, sniggering.

The bell rang.

My thoughts grazed on the possibilities and likelihoods of the future, both near and far. I knew I was going to have to come to terms with boys/men, though I really wasn’t that able to grasp the need. Something like being a nun I suppose. Asexual.

Maybe my hormone levels weren’t up to snuff. I must get them checked.
I looked in my diary and realised I wasn’t far from my next appointment with Julie and I could get them checked then.

No further mention of boys on the way home meant that Carol and Wendy had decided to defer my initiation into the rites of passage. Which I have to admit was a relief. I really needed to discuss this with mum.

“Mum?”
“Yes dear?” mum stopped polishing the glass she was servicing and looked up at me.

“I need to talk,”

“Oh dear, not that time already?” She sighed and put the glass on the shelf with its kin.

“Well not how you mean, I don’t think,” I answered, inspecting a mark on the table so as not to have to meet mum’s eyes.

“Come on then, tell me what’s cookin’ in there.” She ruffled my hair and sat down near enough to place her hand on mine.

“Well, Wendy wants me to meet a guy she knows who she’s organised a date with for me,” I spluttered in one breath.

“Whoa there hoss. Do you want to go out with anyone… yet?” she added, as she realised that it was indeed on the cards eventually if not quite soon.

“Who is he, do you know?”

“Apparently he’s the son of the owner of the garage down near Sophi’s, the one that nearly poisoned her.” I added as if in explanation. On reflection it was probably intended to indict him with the chemical assault.

“What’s he like?”

“I’ve no idea, I haven’t met him”

“Well don’t write him off sight unseen, he might be a nice lad and could help you to learn about the opposite sex. In any event, you’ll be off to Australia soon and that will stop any long term plans in either direction. But it will give you some grounding and I think it may be a good idea to find someone like that.” Mum added thoughtfully.

I stared at her like she was the Monster from the Black Lagoon.

“Who’s side are you on mum???”my mind picked out the words ‘opposite sex’ like they were the hub of the sentence. I suppose to me now, they were. Mum had put them in there innocently enough and they sat there looking like ‘gorillas in the living room’ to me.

“It’s the operand, ‘opposite sex’ that is giving me the heebie jeebies mum, not the concept of dating. I’m really not sure I’m ready to really think about boys in that fashion yet.”

“You didn’t have any trouble with Mark when he was here did you?” mum asked, her expression was odd, like there were two questions rolled into one.

“I’m not sure I really understood the rules at the time and I’m having problems even remembering how I felt. It’s almost like I was on automatic at the time. Just going with the flow. I didn’t even consider what I was doing. I must have been an idiot.”

Mum looked at me with what I call long eyes. Trying, I guess, to fathom where I was going with what I was saying.

“Well in that case, I’m rather glad they were only there for a few days,” Mum mused, “you sound like you were on dangerous ground and didn’t realise it.” She added.

“I guess so, I didn’t even think about it - I was so wrapped up in being a girl and doing girl things. I’m almost frightening myself thinking about it.”

Mum rubbed the back of my hand as it lay on the table and got up to resume her glass polishing, “well, I’m glad it worked out at the time, I’d have been very upset if you’d been led astray by your friends. It’s been quite a summer hasn’t it?” She smiled at me and placed the last glass on the shelf.

“Thanks mum, I feel better now, I think I’ll leave out boys for a little while, if that’s ok with you?” I rose to finish the conversation and move onto my homework…Grief I actually do my homework even more conscientiously than I used to.

It was a good distraction and as the evening progressed, I felt calmer and more myself again. I slept soundly.

“Wendy, Carol, I just want to say thank you for being my friends and looking after me this last few months. I appreciate what you’ve done and how you helped me.

I do however want to say that I feel going out with guys for at least a while is not going to be an option for me.”

I rehearsed what I was going to say as I headed for the bus-stop
“Hi Wendy,” she was there as always, waiting for me.

“Morning Jen, how do you feel today?”

“Fine, just a little sort of down, nothing bad, just sort of not with it, if you know what I mean.” I faltered.

“Sounds like you’re more of a girl than we thought,” Wendy looked a bit down too.

“Why, what’s going on?” I looked at her puzzled by her comment.

Well it looks like we’re in synchro — Carol is as well.” Wendy looked listless and pasty.

“Are you ok? Are you ill?” I couldn’t work out what the heck was going on with her.

“Um, I started my period this morning, so did Carol…. And it looks like you did too.”

“I ca..can’t have them, remember,” I said a little put out by the thought but elated at the same time.

“Well it probably translates to a biorhythm low for you, do you feel a bit whacked and sort of bloated and unenthusiastic?” Wendy leaned against the bus stop sign and rested her temple against the cool steel post “mmmm”.

“Actually yes, I do feel like that, like someone has slapped me in the kidneys and I’m a bit hot at the same time.” I faltered as I thought about it.

“Yup, we’re all in this together, it’s going to be a great week. Let’s not talk about it, just get on with it and get to the other side.” Wendy put her arm round my shoulder and hugged me. We looked up as the bus hissed to a halt in front of us. We managed to find the last double seat and plonked down as if we had just run a marathon.

Eventually we got to school — we had hardly uttered a word.

I was totally gobsmacked when Carol met us and commiserated with Wendy and then looked at me and said “you too huh? Welcome to the club.”

We arranged to meet at lunchtime and headed for class.

“Does this happen every month, feeling like this?” I asked as we trudged to the Science lab.

“Yup — pretty much, sometimes less so, sometimes more so. But pretty much average.” She intoned like it was the drudgery of forsaken souls.

“How depressing. No wonder we get pregnant, anything to stop feeling like this..”
My mind jumped a bit at the inclusive quality of the ‘we’, but I felt it was warranted.

When lunchtime arrived and we sat on the low wall surrounding the carpark, I brought up the subject of boys, intending to give my little speech.

“Do not, I mean NOT, talk about boys for the next five days,” Carol advised. “We’re not in any frame of mind to discuss anything that might approach pleasure this week.”

“Well I was going to say,”

“Well don’t,” Wendy glared at me.

“Ok, tell me when I can and I’ll tell you what you just told me, without the pleasure bit.” I offered frowning. How am I supposed to tell them I don’t want to discuss boys, if they don’t want to discuss boys?
Well it can wait I guess… Hmm.. perhaps the reason I don’t like boys at the moment is the same reason they don’t after all. I’ll wait til I feel better and see if I feel better about them. I do wish I could stop thinking in circles.