SKINNERBX: terminated
Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?
From the desk of
Her Royal Highness
Princess Amelia Mignonette
Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo
Dear Dr. Carl Jung,
I realize that you are still dead. However, things have suddenly gotten significantly worse, and I’m now convinced I will NEVER transcend my ego and achieve self-actualization.
First I find out I’ve bankrupted the student government and will shortly be killed by the small but extremely strong senior class valedictorian.
Then my short story gets rejected by Sixteen magazine.
And now my boyfriend thinks I’m going to a party he’s having in his parents’ apartment while they are away.
I can’t really blame him for thinking this, because I sort of said I would go.
But I said I’d go because if I said no, I’ll seem like a killjoy and non-party princess.
Of course, there’s no way I would even be considering going if I didn’t happen to remember that March is not a month in which Michael is allowed to broach the subject of S-E-X to me, since last month was his allotted time to bring it up. So it’s not like there can be any of THAT on his mind. You know, like, during the party.
Still. I will have to socialize with people I don’t know. Which I realize I do all the time in my capacity as princess of Genovia.
But socializing with college students is quite different from socializing with other royals and dignitaries. I mean, other royals and dignitaries don’t tell you all accusingly that your limo is a significant contributor to the destruction of the ozone layer, as oversize cars, such as SUVs and, yes, royal limos, cause 43 percent more global-warming pollution and 47 percent more air pollution than an average car, the way a girl in front of Michael’s dorm pointed out to me last week when I pulled up to visit him.
Could things possibly GET any worse?
I REALLY need to self-actualize. Like, right NOW. PLEASE SEND HELP.
Your friend,
Mia Thermopolis
Wednesday, March 3, Homeroom
In the limo on the way to school this morning, I asked Lilly what her parents could be thinking, letting Michael have a big party in their apartment while they’re away. She was like, “Whatever. Do I look like Ruth and Morty’s keeper?”
Ruth and Morty are Lilly’s parents’ first names. I think it is very disrespectful of her to call her own parents by their given names. I don’t even call them by their given names, and they’ve asked me to about a million times.
Still, even considering how long I’ve known them—almost as long as Lilly has—I can only call them Dr. Moscovitz. Sometimes I call them Mr. Dr. Moscovitz and Mrs. Dr. Moscovitz (but only behind their backs) when I need to specify one over the other.
But I’ll never call them Ruth and Morty. Not even when Michael and I are married, and they are my in-laws. They will always be the Drs. Moscovitz to me.
“They do realize YOU’RE going to be there, don’t they?” I asked Lilly. “I mean, at the party?”
“Duh,” Lilly said. “Of course. What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I just—I’m kind of surprised that your parents are letting Michael have a party when they aren’t home. It’s not like them. That’s all.”
“Yeah, well,” Lilly said, “I think Ruth and Morty have bigger things to worry about.”
“Like what?”