Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (motivational books for men .TXT) 📕

so easy for everyone else to talk to Emma, and I’m just like: I think we need to allow for the kittens’ personalities to come through a bit more, ’k?

I hate myself.

I swear I want to crawl out of my skin and be like James, all cool, calm, and collected.

And I’m feeling like I’m running out of days with Emma, because we’re back at school this time next week, and then I only get to see her twice a week again, if that, because GCSEs are getting real.

8:30 P.M.

I’m going to text Emma and ask if she wants to come around and take those pictures.

I know the kittens haven’t opened their eyes, but I want to see if she prefers my kittens to James’s rowing arms.

PS: I know that’s immature.

PPS: I know they’re not my kittens.

PPPS: I know it’s not a competition.

9:58 P.M.

Emma texted to say she can’t come tomorrow.

Here’s what she says:

Would love to, but I’m not free Tuesday evenings. Another time?

Maybe. But I don’t want to text her now.

Tuesday, April 10 #CardiganGate

The funniest thing happened today, and now Emma is my favorite person in the whole world.

She was pricing clothes all day, which involves taking steamed items off the rail/pile and shooting a price tag through the label.

In her defense, the stockroom is in an absolute state, despite our efforts to tidy it. Anyway, so Emma is happily pricing away, and when Pat gets up from her chair to have her tea break, she’s like: “Has anyone seen my cardigan?”

Turned out, Emma accidentally priced it and put it on a hanger, and Kate took it out to the shop to be sold.

LOL.

We checked every hanger but couldn’t find it anywhere, so it appears that we sold Pat’s cardigan in the buy-one-get-one-half-price deal.

She was furious, Emma was mortified, and I wanted to never stop laughing.

Kate told her to choose another one from the shop, but of course that wasn’t good enough for Pat, because she wanted that one.

I didn’t say anything to Emma all day about the text message, but just as we were leaving, she kind of nudged my shoulder and was like: “Do you want to take kitten pictures on Sunday maybe?”

I nudged her back and was like: “Yeah, okay.”

Wednesday, April 11 #MindBlown

Here’s why people think the moon landing was a hoax:

The average customer at our shop is too stupid to comprehend the buy-one-get-one-half-price offer.

Here’s what the signs say:

BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE ON ALL CLOTHING

And here’s what happened:

Customer 1: The sign says “Buy One Get One Half Price on All Clothing.”

Me: Yes.

Customer 1: I’m just a bit confused as to what that means.

Me: Buy one, get one half price on all clothing.

Customer 1: Even the jackets?

Me: On all clothing.

Customer 2: What does your sign mean?

Me: That it’s buy one, get one half price on all clothing.

Customer 2: Even books?

Me: On all cloooothinnng.

Customer 3: So when I buy one, I get another one half price?

Me:…

Minds are literally blown. Not to mention the number of people who come to the till and haven’t realized.

All day Kate’s been going: “And just to let you know, it’s buy one, get one half price on all clothing.” And the customers are like: “Is it?” When there are signs EVERYWHERE.

So yes, with scenes like this playing out before my very eyes, do I believe we put a man on the moon? Absolutely not.

Thursday, April 12 #Surprise

Polly and Tristan came to the thrift shop today, which was weird.

Kate completely overreacted to their arrival, all like: “Gosh, pet, look at you, I miss you.”

Whatever.

They were like: “We just wanted to say hi to Phoebe.”

Why?

To rub their relationship in my face?

The situation exponentially improved the moment they did say hello to me, because when they walked into the stockroom, I was just passing books to James, who was up a ladder, his “delicious” denim-clad bum right in my face.

Polly’s eyes literally rolled out of her head, and I swear she was thinking: Why can’t I have an attractive boyfriend?

Tristan looked like such a child next to James.

I introduced Emma, and Polly was all like: “Hi, I’ve heard so much about you,” which is a total lie, because I swear I’ve mentioned her maybe once.

Polly and Tristan said they were on their way to some festival on Wimbledon Common, and I was like: “It’s so nice when you don’t have to have a job.”

I know that was

a)  bitchy and

b)  a lie.

I know I’m actually just as privileged as them and don’t have to have a job.

But I was just like: Why are you all in my face with your new life?

Also, does she think she can just ignore the fact that we clearly fell out over the clitoris?

I’m still mad at her for being mad at me when all I did was say what needed to be said.

I mean, of course I could have been like: Don’t worry about it, Polly, just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure one day an orgasm is going to happen to you that will make the twenty-five years of no-orgasm sex with Tristan so worth it.

I was Polly’s best friend, so I think not only should she expect my honesty, she should demand it.

But what do I know?

When she was leaving, she was all like: “Text me, Phoebe, if you have a day off over the weekend and want to get coffee or something. Or I’ll see you Monday.”

I was like: “Okay.”

Now the ball’s in my court again.

I hate that.

What does she want me to say to her?

Also, I don’t actually have time.

So I’ll see her Monday.

PS: I hope it bothers Polly that I’ve moved on.

PPS: I’ve just reread this entry, and I clearly haven’t moved on.

PPPS: I wish so much that I didn’t care.

PPPPS: I just Googled “how not to care,” but the articles are all rubbish, because they’re all about how not to care about what other people think about you, but I don’t care what people think about me,