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Oh.
My.
God.
This.
Is.
So.
Boring.
HOMEWORK
Homeroom: n/a
Intro to Creative Writing: Describe a person who you know
English: Franny and Zooey
French: Continue décrire un soir amusant avec les amis
G & T: n/a
PE: n/a
Chemistry: Whatever, Kenny will tell me Precalculus:??????
Wednesday, September 8, the limo on the way home from the Ritz-Carlton
When I walked into Grandmère’s suite at the Ritz today (the W was apparently so unsatisfactory, she only stayed one night), I was totally shocked to find my father there.
I’d forgotten he was coming into town for the UN’s General Assembly.
And he’d apparently forgotten that it’s never a good idea to drop by to see Grandmère before cocktail hour (she’s been told by her physician that she can’t have any more three-Sidecar luncheons if she doesn’t want her angina acting up) because she is more than a little cranky.
“Look at this!” she was saying, as she shook a pillow in my dad’s face. “Mere seven-hundred-threadcount sheets! It’s scandalous! No wonder Rommel has a rash!”
“Rommel always has a rash,” my dad said tiredly. Then he noticed I’d come in, and he said, “Hi, honey. Long time no—What happened to your hair?”
I didn’t even bother getting offended. Having your boyfriend announce he’s moving to Japan has a way of causing you to get your priorities straight.
“I got it cut,” I said. “I don’t care if you don’t like it. I don’t have to mess with it anymore, and that’s all that matters. To me, anyway.”
“Oh,” Dad said. “It’s, uh. Cute. What’s the matter?”
“What? Nothing.”
“Something’s the matter, Mia. I can tell.”
“It’s really nothing,” I assured him. Just the knowledge that all my parents have to do is look at my face and know something is wrong made me realize how very much I must actually be hurting by this Michael thing. Because I’m TRYING to hide it. I really am. For Michael’s sake. Because I know I should be excited and happy for him.
And I AM excited and happy for him.
Except for the part where I’m weeping. On the inside.