And I said, “Excuse me, I have to look at them from 9:55 to 10:55 and from 2:30 to 3:30 EVERY SINGLE DAY, except Saturdays and Sundays and national holidays and the summer. If I don’t flunk, that is, and have to go to summer school.”
And if they get married, then I’ll have to look at them EVERY SINGLE DAY, SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, MAJOR HOLIDAYS INCLUDED.
Define set: collection of objects; element or member belongs to a set
A = {Gilligan, Skipper, Mary Ann}
rule specifies each element
A = {x|x is one of the castaways on Gilligan’s Island}
Friday, September 26
LILLY MOSCOVITZ’S LIST OF HOTTEST GUYS(compiled during World Civ, with commentary by Mia Thermopolis)
1. Josh Richter (agree—six feet of unadulterated hotness. Blond hair, often falling into his clear blue eyes, and that sweet, sleepy smile. Only drawback: he has the bad taste to date Lana Weinberger)
2. Boris Pelkowski (strongly disagree. Just because he played his stupid violin at Carnegie Hall when he was twelve does not make him hot. Plus he tucks his school sweater into his pants, instead of wearing it out, like a normal person)
3. Pierce Brosnan, best James Bond ever (disagree—I liked Timothy Dalton better)
4. Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans (agree—stay alive, no matter what occurs)
5. Prince William of England (duh)
Leonardo in Titanic (As if! That is so 1998)
6. Mr. Wheeton, the crew coach (hot, but taken. Seen opening the door to the teachers’ lounge for Mademoiselle Klein)
7. That guy in that jeans ad on that giant billboard in Times Square (totally agree. Who IS that guy? They should give him his own TV series)
8. Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman’s boyfriend (whatever happened to him? He was hot!)
9. Joshua Bell, the violinist (totally agree. It would be so cool to date a musician—just not Boris Pelkowski)
Later on Friday
I was measuring my chest and totally not thinking about the fact that my mom was out with my Algebra teacher when my dad called. I don’t know why, but I lied and told him Mom was at her studio. Which is so weird, because obviously Dad knows Mom dates. But for some reason, I just couldn’t tell him about Mr. Gianini.
This afternoon during my mandatory review session with Mr. Gianini, I was sitting there practicing the FOIL method (first, outside, inside, last; first, outside, inside, last—Oh my God, when am I ever going to have to actually use the FOIL method in real life? WHEN???) and all of a sudden Mr. Gianini said, “Mia, I hope you don’t feel, well, uncomfortable about my seeing your mother socially.”
Only for some reason for a second I thought he said SEXUALLY, not socially. And then I could feel my face getting totally hot. I mean like BURNING. And I said, “Oh, no, Mr. Gianini, it doesn’t bother me at all.”
And Mr. Gianini said, “Because if it bothers you, we can talk about it.”
I guess he must have figured out I was lying, since my face was so red.
But all I said was, “Really, it doesn’t bother me. I mean, it bothers me a LITTLE, but really, I’m fine with it. I mean, it’s just a date, right? Why get upset about one measly date?”
That was when Mr. Gianini said, “Well, Mia, I don’t know if it’s going to be one measly date. I really like your mother.”
And then, I don’t even know how, but all of a sudden I heard myself saying, “Well, you better. Because if you do anything to make her cry, I’ll kick your butt.”
Oh my God! I can’t even believe I said the word butt to a teacher! My face got even REDDER after that, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. Why is it that the only time I can tell the truth is when it’s guaranteed to get me into trouble?
But I guess I am feeling sort of weird about the whole thing. Maybe Lilly’s parents were right.
Mr. Gianini, though, was totally cool. He smiled in this funny way and said, “I have no intention of making your mother cry, but if I ever do, you have my permission to kick my butt.”
So that was okay, sort of.
Anyway, Dad sounded really weird on the phone. But then again, he always does. Transatlantic phone calls suck because I can hear the ocean swishing around in the background and it makes me all nervous, like the fish are listening, or something. Plus Dad didn’t even want to talk to me. He wanted to talk to Mom. I suppose somebody died, and he wants Mom to break it to me gently.
Maybe it was Grandmāšre. Hmmm. . . .
My breasts have grown exactly none since last summer. Mom was totally wrong. I did not have a growth spurt when I turned fourteen, like she did. I will probably never have a growth spurt, at least not on my chest. I only have growth spurts UP, not OUT. I am now the tallest girl in my class.
Now if anybody asks me to the Cultural Diversity Dance next month (yeah, right) I won’t be able to wear a strapless dress because there isn’t anything on my chest to hold it up.
Saturday, September 27
I was asleep when my mom got home from her date last night (I stayed up as late as I could, because I wanted to know what happened, but I guess all that measuring wore me out), so I didn’t get to ask her how it went until this morning when I went out into the kitchen to feed Fat Louie. Mom was up already, which was weird, because usually she sleeps later than me, and I’m a teenager, I’m supposed to be the one sleeping all the time.
But Mom’s been depressed ever since her last boyfriend turned out to be a Republican.
Anyway, she was in there, humming in a happy way and making pancakes. I nearly died of shock to see her actually cooking something so early in the morning, let alone something vegetarian.