Louise Lintvelt's Blog - Posts Tagged "funny"
The Secret Ramblings of Harriet Hughes
The months of Monday nights in front of the television watching Dancing with the Stars has driven my mother CRAZY! She has decided to enrol Abigail and me in a dance class. A DANCE CLASS! My mother has lost her marbles. She is officially one stamp short of postal.
My name is Harriet Hughes and I am not a dancer!
For one thing, I am the clumsiest 12-year-old girl on the planet. My short, stubby legs are not made for dancing. I have orange, curly hair, blue eyes, braces and a freckled nose. My orange hair and freckles are thanks to my British heritage (we moved to America when I was five). I do not look good in pink. There are many types of girls in the world. Most of them love shopping, painted nails, Yorkshire terriers and the color pink.
I am NOT one of those girls.
I am the kind of girl people call sweet; no one has ever called me breathtakingly beautiful. My eight-year-old sister Abigail, on the other hand, is taller than me, with long, blond hair and a smile that belongs in a toothpaste advert. She looks good in pink; in fact, she looks good in anything and she is good at everything. I find this more than a little annoying. Usually you get one average-looking (or ugly) sibling who is smart, and a prettier, slightly less intelligent (or dumb) sibling. This is not the case in our family.....
My name is Harriet Hughes and I am not a dancer!
For one thing, I am the clumsiest 12-year-old girl on the planet. My short, stubby legs are not made for dancing. I have orange, curly hair, blue eyes, braces and a freckled nose. My orange hair and freckles are thanks to my British heritage (we moved to America when I was five). I do not look good in pink. There are many types of girls in the world. Most of them love shopping, painted nails, Yorkshire terriers and the color pink.
I am NOT one of those girls.
I am the kind of girl people call sweet; no one has ever called me breathtakingly beautiful. My eight-year-old sister Abigail, on the other hand, is taller than me, with long, blond hair and a smile that belongs in a toothpaste advert. She looks good in pink; in fact, she looks good in anything and she is good at everything. I find this more than a little annoying. Usually you get one average-looking (or ugly) sibling who is smart, and a prettier, slightly less intelligent (or dumb) sibling. This is not the case in our family.....
The Secret Ramblings of Harriet Hughes Continued
My parents or “The Rents”, as I like to call them, are very un-cool. My dad is still living in the eighties. He still uses phrases like ”narly”. I keep telling him the world has moved on. I once sent him a text message and made the fatal mistake of ending it with GR8 C U THN. Dad made me take an extra English class that summer and mom had to do a lot of convincing for him not to take away my cellphone (not that I would have minded to be rid of that huge brick). I think it’s because he is an engineer, they tend to be a little behind the times.
The man is a dinosaur!
He still keeps his money in a fanny pack clipped to the front of his jeans. He thinks it’s very practical and can’t understand why they are no longer used by the general population.
Have you looked in the mirror, dad?
Mom is what you would call a free spirit, she is a little eccentric, and that’s putting it mildly. She is still under the impression that tie-dye dresses are in fashion. She likes to call herself an artist, but in reality she is just a stay-at-home mom, with a very messy hobby.
My dad drives a very sensible panel van and my mom has a 1973, red Volkswagen Beetle. My dad says he spends more time fixing the Beetle than my mom does driving it. I can confirm this—I can think of more than one occasion when we got stuck on the side of the road. My mom thinks it is the cutest thing she has ever seen. According to her, the special black spotty paint job makes it look like a ladybug. I think it looks ridiculous; who on earth wants to drive around in an aphid-eating insect?
The man is a dinosaur!
He still keeps his money in a fanny pack clipped to the front of his jeans. He thinks it’s very practical and can’t understand why they are no longer used by the general population.
Have you looked in the mirror, dad?
Mom is what you would call a free spirit, she is a little eccentric, and that’s putting it mildly. She is still under the impression that tie-dye dresses are in fashion. She likes to call herself an artist, but in reality she is just a stay-at-home mom, with a very messy hobby.
My dad drives a very sensible panel van and my mom has a 1973, red Volkswagen Beetle. My dad says he spends more time fixing the Beetle than my mom does driving it. I can confirm this—I can think of more than one occasion when we got stuck on the side of the road. My mom thinks it is the cutest thing she has ever seen. According to her, the special black spotty paint job makes it look like a ladybug. I think it looks ridiculous; who on earth wants to drive around in an aphid-eating insect?
The Secret Ramblings of Harriet Hughes Part 3
I told Mom that I did not want to take a dance class. She said I was being silly. Dancing is apparently lots of fun if you let go of your inhibitions. I think Mom should stop stealing quotes from the hippy next door. Just imagine the sight: a dance class full of elegant swans doing perfect pirouettes and one flame-haired elephant dancing like an idiot! I will be the laughing stock of Madam Zangara’s School of Dance. I can just imagine that handsome host on Dancing with the Stars: “Next up, Harriet Hughes. She has no talent, she has no grace, she has no rhythm but she has heart”.
This is a recipe for disaster!
Monday. I have been dreading this day for the last week. I have very good reason to dislike this Monday. Today is the first day of school and the first dance lesson at Madam Zangara’s School of Dance. How much punishment can one girl take?
The day did not start out well. As luck would have it, I woke up late. Note to self: snoozing every five minutes for half an hour is not a good idea. I got dressed, pulled the orange, tangled mess on my head into a ponytail and brushed my teeth in record time. That’s when I saw it. A spot on my chin. Just my luck! All those girls in the spot cream adverts are constantly going on about how with just one wash, all your spots will be gone. This is nonsense. I am convinced that it is just one big conspiracy. Spot cream companies are making exactly that, spot cream— cream that gives you spots.
They are scamming innocent teens into an endless cycle of bad skin and horrible self-esteem. Note to self: stop using spot cream.
I found mom and Abigail waiting downstairs. They were tapping their feet impatiently. Mom wanted to know why I was never on time. She can really over exaggerate sometimes. Abigail was wearing a denim skirt, pink stripy tights and light pink top. She looked like one of the girls in a clothing store catalogue. I was wearing my boring jeans and a blue stripy top and by this time, my hair had taken on a life of its own. I looked like an ideal candidate for the TV show What Not to Wear.
School was a sea of faces, long classes and excited chatter as everyone got back to the grindstone. My new teacher is Mrs Jones, or The Dragon, as we like to call her. My two best friends, Alexa Martin and Olivia Penn, are also in my class. Thank goodness for that.
Alexa is super sweet. She has straight brown hair, cut into a perfect bob, with bangs that end just above her eyes. Most things about her are perfect, not just her hairstyle. Her smile is contagious and she plays the piano like Alicia Keys. We have been friends since the first grade. I am quite lucky to have met her in the first grade, when no one had been classified as cool or dorky yet. I am not really cool, but not nerdy or strange enough to fall into the dork category. I am decidedly average. Alexa is cool.
Olivia is funny, a real laugh-a-minute. She has brown, curly hair that hangs loosely around her shoulders. She is always laughing and I have never seen her in bad mood. Olivia is very feisty. She speaks her mind and stands up for herself. No one ever says anything bad about us because Olivia would never let them get away with it. It is nice to have a friend that always has your back.
Olivia went to France for the holidays and Alexa went on a ski trip to the Swiss Alps. My holiday was not nearly as exciting. We went on a family camping trip to the Happy Acres camping ground for a week. I have never seen Dad so excited. He bought every bit of camping gear he could find at the local outdoor store. It’s a pity that he forgot to pack the manuals. You would think an engineer could figure out how to pitch a tent in less than five hours. Mom was over the moon to be at one with nature. Abigail and I spent the week taking walks, fishing, rubbing lotion on insect bites, bathing in cold water and eating out of cans.
I wish my life was a little bit more exciting!
There is a new boy in our class; his name is Oliver Russell. He is the cutest boy I have ever seen. He is tall and athletic with dark brown hair that flops into his sea-blue eyes. He has a cheeky smile, and when he looks at you, it’s as if you have just shared a juicy secret. When I saw him, I immediately knew that Peter Williams (my fifth grade secret crush) had been dethroned.
Alexa and Olivia liked Oliver, too. In fact, I think it is safe to say every girl in school liked him (except for Sheena Spencer; she does not like boys). I told Olivia that if she married him one day, they should name their daughter Olive. She did not think my joke was very funny. “I have no intention of naming my child after a piece of fruit, or any other foodstuff for that matter,” she said indignantly. I pointed out that she would be following in the footsteps of Gwyneth Paltrow (as in movie star) and Jamie Oliver (as in celebrity chef). She was not amused.
After school, my mom picked us up in the ladybug and we drove off in the direction of Madam Zangara’s. Abigail had the latest CD of her favourite boy band blaring on the radio and Mom and Abigail were singing along at the top of their lungs. They are so embarrassing! We drove past Oliver and his mom; she drives an Audi. I tried to duck on the back seat but I was too late, he definitely saw me.
This day was turning out to be my worst nightmare!
This is a recipe for disaster!
Monday. I have been dreading this day for the last week. I have very good reason to dislike this Monday. Today is the first day of school and the first dance lesson at Madam Zangara’s School of Dance. How much punishment can one girl take?
The day did not start out well. As luck would have it, I woke up late. Note to self: snoozing every five minutes for half an hour is not a good idea. I got dressed, pulled the orange, tangled mess on my head into a ponytail and brushed my teeth in record time. That’s when I saw it. A spot on my chin. Just my luck! All those girls in the spot cream adverts are constantly going on about how with just one wash, all your spots will be gone. This is nonsense. I am convinced that it is just one big conspiracy. Spot cream companies are making exactly that, spot cream— cream that gives you spots.
They are scamming innocent teens into an endless cycle of bad skin and horrible self-esteem. Note to self: stop using spot cream.
I found mom and Abigail waiting downstairs. They were tapping their feet impatiently. Mom wanted to know why I was never on time. She can really over exaggerate sometimes. Abigail was wearing a denim skirt, pink stripy tights and light pink top. She looked like one of the girls in a clothing store catalogue. I was wearing my boring jeans and a blue stripy top and by this time, my hair had taken on a life of its own. I looked like an ideal candidate for the TV show What Not to Wear.
School was a sea of faces, long classes and excited chatter as everyone got back to the grindstone. My new teacher is Mrs Jones, or The Dragon, as we like to call her. My two best friends, Alexa Martin and Olivia Penn, are also in my class. Thank goodness for that.
Alexa is super sweet. She has straight brown hair, cut into a perfect bob, with bangs that end just above her eyes. Most things about her are perfect, not just her hairstyle. Her smile is contagious and she plays the piano like Alicia Keys. We have been friends since the first grade. I am quite lucky to have met her in the first grade, when no one had been classified as cool or dorky yet. I am not really cool, but not nerdy or strange enough to fall into the dork category. I am decidedly average. Alexa is cool.
Olivia is funny, a real laugh-a-minute. She has brown, curly hair that hangs loosely around her shoulders. She is always laughing and I have never seen her in bad mood. Olivia is very feisty. She speaks her mind and stands up for herself. No one ever says anything bad about us because Olivia would never let them get away with it. It is nice to have a friend that always has your back.
Olivia went to France for the holidays and Alexa went on a ski trip to the Swiss Alps. My holiday was not nearly as exciting. We went on a family camping trip to the Happy Acres camping ground for a week. I have never seen Dad so excited. He bought every bit of camping gear he could find at the local outdoor store. It’s a pity that he forgot to pack the manuals. You would think an engineer could figure out how to pitch a tent in less than five hours. Mom was over the moon to be at one with nature. Abigail and I spent the week taking walks, fishing, rubbing lotion on insect bites, bathing in cold water and eating out of cans.
I wish my life was a little bit more exciting!
There is a new boy in our class; his name is Oliver Russell. He is the cutest boy I have ever seen. He is tall and athletic with dark brown hair that flops into his sea-blue eyes. He has a cheeky smile, and when he looks at you, it’s as if you have just shared a juicy secret. When I saw him, I immediately knew that Peter Williams (my fifth grade secret crush) had been dethroned.
Alexa and Olivia liked Oliver, too. In fact, I think it is safe to say every girl in school liked him (except for Sheena Spencer; she does not like boys). I told Olivia that if she married him one day, they should name their daughter Olive. She did not think my joke was very funny. “I have no intention of naming my child after a piece of fruit, or any other foodstuff for that matter,” she said indignantly. I pointed out that she would be following in the footsteps of Gwyneth Paltrow (as in movie star) and Jamie Oliver (as in celebrity chef). She was not amused.
After school, my mom picked us up in the ladybug and we drove off in the direction of Madam Zangara’s. Abigail had the latest CD of her favourite boy band blaring on the radio and Mom and Abigail were singing along at the top of their lungs. They are so embarrassing! We drove past Oliver and his mom; she drives an Audi. I tried to duck on the back seat but I was too late, he definitely saw me.
This day was turning out to be my worst nightmare!
