Love Is a Many Trousered Thing

by Louise Rennison

  “Heggo Gingie, my Gingie, I LOBE my Gingie. Kiss Joshie the dollyboy.”

  “No, Libbs, I don’t think that Josh wants a kiss, and you are holding him too tightly round his little neck his head is going red, isn’t it, Joshie?”

  Libby smiled her alarming smile. Lately she has taken to opening her eyes really wide when she does it and sticking her teeth out, like a bonkers hamster who has just seen a really big carrot.

  “He laaaikes it.”

  And she dragged them off into her room. If I hear sawing noises, I will go in. Although why I have to take responsibility I don’t know. What are my “parents” doing? If they aren’t interested in their children, they shouldn’t have them. I might say that to them. I might say…no hang on a minute I know what will happen then, they WILL start taking an interest in me, just to annoy me.

  Went down to run myself a bath and as I passed Libby’s door I could hear her talking.

  “Now then, a bitty lit of lipstick. Mmmmmm.”

  Josh is going to look like a toddler drag queen by the time his mum picks him up. Still, if she bans him from coming round it might save him from something far, far worse.

  As I came out of the bathroom, Vati was coming out of the kitchen. Wearing what he likes to think as “leisure wear.” Essentially jeans and a T-shirt that says, “I’m a grown up. So nananananananana.”

  How pathetico. But I didn’t say anything. He started rambling and moaning, though. He only has to see my head to start complaining.

  “Georgia, you had better not be in that bathroom for the rest of the night, there are other people in this house, you know.”

  I said, “I know, that is what I complain about as well.”

  “Don’t be so bloody cheeky. The day you start paying the water bill is the day you can start being cheeky.”

  Oh drone on. Just because as yet I am not the girlfriend of a popstar and a squillionnaire beekeeper backing singer etc., I am picked on by old huge botty. Still, live and let die, is what I say.

  If Mum and Dad were bees, he would be a dead bee by now. And that is not easy to say.

  He hadn’t finished, though. “And feed your bloody cat, it’s attacking my trousers.”

  Who wouldn’t, I thought, but I didn’t say that.

  I turned the bath on and went into the kitchen. When he saw me, Angus shot through the cat flap into the garden. Then he came back in doing his comedy coming through the cat flap backward thing and yowling like he hadn’t eaten anything for days. I know that is not true because of the complaints from the neighbors. Mr. Up the Road said that Angus even ate some lard he had put out for the birds. The Prat brothers have to be fed inside now because Angus is so sneaky he can dart out within seconds and gobble down their food. He is like the James Bond of Cat Land—they seek him here, they seek him there, they seek that puddy tat everywhere. I have seen him leap down from the bedroom windowsill unexpectedly, right into the Prat poodles’ food bowl. Or the roof. Or out of the dustbin. You have to admire him, really.

  Owwwwwwwww. Bloody hell, I think he may have eaten my ankle.

  I put Angus’s food in his bowl and he was purring and pushing himself against my legs. Aahhh. Then he sat on the table and just looked.

  I said, “Don’t you want your kitty-cat food?”

  He shut his eyes.

  I went and checked the bath and put in some of Mum’s strictly banned expensive bath oil that she hides in her wardrobe. Honestly, it is so tiring trying to have a bath around this place.

  When I went back into the kitchen, Angus was sitting in his food in the food bowl.

  I don’t know what to say.

  As I was just looking at him and he was looking at me, Gordy came into the kitchen. Fully made up. Honestly. If I didn’t know better I would say that he had false eyelashes on. He was covered in foundation and rouge, and around his eyes were big black rings and some sort of blue stuff. I noticed he had some clip-on earrings on as well. And a bow on his tail.

  I went off into the bathroom.

  The odd thing was, Gordy looked strangely happy.

  Maybe he is a homosexualist cat.

  Angus will disown him.

  in the bathroom

  Aah, at last I can relax and think about myself properly.

  It is amazing how floaty nungas are. I wonder why. Perhaps it is in case of flooding and then girls, who of course are the most important sex, would float to safety.

  It may be a genetic floaty survival thingy.

  two minutes later

  I don’t like to criticize Big G unnecessarily, but it does on the whole seem like a useless genetic floaty survival thingy. Much the same as the body-hair fiasco. What is the point of having rogue hairs shooting out of the back of your knee, for instance? Or the big curly one I found in my eyebrow? How could that help the human race survive? Unless there was a time when wild animals were really really frightened of eyebrows.

  Back to the nungas, though. (I can hear Dave the Laugh saying, “Yes, let us get back to the nungas, Kittykat!” Shutup shutup, Dave the Laugh’s imaginary voice! Get out of my bath!!!!) Where was I? Oh yes, if it is down to floatiness, clearly Wet Lindsay would sink without a trace, as she has got pretendy nungas, which is a GOOD thing, but Melanie Griffiths would be floating around with me for sure. I mean she’s alright and everything, but not exactly tip-top brainwise. I wouldn’t want her and me to be responsible for repopulating the earth after a flood.

  fifteen minutes later

  I heard the doorbell ring. Please let it not be Grandad in his bicycling shorts, with Maisie his knitted girlfriend. Thank goodness I have the door safely bolted. I could hear muffled voices as I put my face mask on. Aaahh this was the first time I had been relaxed for ages, well since I had my little zizz in maths this arvie. I find trigonometry vair vair soothing.

  two minutes later

  Dad said through the door, “Georgia, are you still in the bath?”

  Uuuurgh, my dad was talking to me whilst I was in the nuddy-pants! How disgusting. I put a flannel over my nungas.

  “Dad, go away.”

  “There is someone to see you.”

  What? The ace gang usually rings before they come round. I bet it was Mr. Next Door come to complain about his stupid aquarium fiasco, but I hadn’t heard any shouting.

  I said, “Who is it?”

  Then I heard his voice. “Georgia…ciao, it is Masimo. I came for to see you. How are you?”

  I couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe that I was talking to Masimo in the nuddy-pants. Me, not him, I mean, unless it was an Italian tradition to call round at a girl’s house with no clothes on. You never know, of course, but…shut up shut up!!!

  This called for hidden depths of sophisticosity. Maybe I could pretend I wasn’t in the bath, that I was just, like, in the bathroom. No, no, that was much worse because if I wasn’t having a bath what was I doing in the bathroom? He might think there was a loo in here. There IS a loo in here. Oh no nononnooooooo. Why had my stupid stupid father let him come near the bathroom door???

  I could hear my dad say, “I know she is in there because I spoke to her just before you came round. Who knows what girls do in there, eh? Where did you say you came from in Italy?”

  Masimo said in his gorgey Pizza-a-gogo way, “It is a small place near Roma.”

  I stepped very, very quietly out of the bath. Don’t make a ripply water noise, just shushhy-shush. I needn’t have bothered, though, because Dad was still pratting on for England.

  “Oh yes, very nice, I went on a footie excursion with the lads to Rome, had a lot of your vino tinto!!! Muchos nice.”

  Masimo laughed.

  “Ah yes, I like to play footie. When I go home I with my mates we play in a how you say, in a league.”

  “Yes, I like to keep in top condition myself. Would you like a drink?”

  “Ah well, thank you, that would be nice, Mr. Nicolson.”

  “Call me Bob.”

  And I heard them go off
into the kitchen.

  Call me Bob???

  No, I tell you what, why don’t we call you “You big fat prat!!!”

  How could this be happening? I could have drowned in the bath for all they knew.

  I dried myself and washed off the face mask.

  But I was still trapped in the bathroom with no makeup on, with a Luurve God just two inches of wood away. Oh what should I do? There was nothing to improvise with, makeupwise. Mum told me that Maisie used to use shoe polish as eyeliner because they were so poor in the olden days. And bite her lips to make them go red. Come to think of it, she looks like the bride of Dracula now, so years of lip biting have paid off. Grandad likes that living dead look.

  I put my ear to the door and I could just make out my dad pratting on and on about his football “career,” i.e. being generally a large lazy lardy lump on legs. Then I heard Mum come out of the lounge and shout up the stairs, “Libby, you and Josh are very quiet. What are you doing?”

  I heard a bit of scuffling and then Libby saying, “Nothing, Mummy.”

  And I thought I heard Josh shout, “Help!” but I had no time for toddler trouble just now. I had my own emergency.

  I whispered as loudly as I could, “Mum! Mum!!!”

  She came over to the door.

  “What? Why are you still in there? Masimo is here. God, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”

  “Mum, I am stuck in here in my crappy T-shirt and joggy bums and no makeup. What are you going to do about it? Because if you don’t help me, I will be in here for the rest of my life.”

  She said, “Say please.”

  “PLEASE help me, Mum. Otherwise I will kill you.”

  Eventually after she had made me plead properly, Mum went off and sneaked me in my makeup bag and jeans.

  My hand was all trembly and my face had that attractive red quality that you long for when you have a Luuurve God in the house. Anyway, I did my best. I thought I would go for that “ooooh you caught me washing my hair” scenario. So mascara, eyeliner, lippy and lip gloss and a towel around my hair (to disguise the fact that my hair looked like an elephant had had a poo on it).

  Big deep breath and open the door.

  in the kitchen

  Oh this is sooooo embarrassing. Vati is trying to talk to us like we are all mates. Why doesn’t he just go away? Forever???

  He had one leg up on a chair drinking his beer and saying to Masimo, “So have you got a motor, then, Mas?” (Mas…ohmygod he was calling him Mas!!!)

  Masimo was looking at me, but he said, “Er, oh no, I have a scooter.”

  I said, “Do you want to, erm, go and sit outside for a bit? And chat?”

  Mum came in, dragging Josh and Libby with her. My worst fears were realized—Josh was dressed as a drag queen. A drag queen with half a Mohican haircut.

  Mum was livid.

  “What is Josh’s mummy going to say? You naughty girl, I told you not to play with scissors.”

  Libby was very cross as well.

  “He’s been to London to see the sardine.”

  Dad said, “Don’t be cheeky, young lady.”

  Libby put her hands on her hips and shouted at him, “DON’T YOU be cheeky, bad mummy!!!”

  As Dad was momentarily distracted by being called mummy, I said to Masimo, “Quickly, let’s get out of here.”

  And we went and sat on the wall. I made sure we were hidden by the tree so that M and D couldn’t spy on us from the house.

  I still had my hair up in a towel, but I like to think it made me look a bit like a Thai bride or something. That is what I like to think.

  At first we just sat there in silence, I didn’t know what to do.

  Eventually I said, “I’m sorry about the train fandango, Robbie turning up like that, and you saying you’re free for me, and then I was carrying the horns…I just went a bit mad.”

  Masimo didn’t say anything. Oh no. Then I felt his hand on my face and he turned my face toward him and looked me straight in the eye. I am melting, I am melting!!!

  “Georgia, for me, it is the same. For you, I don’t know, I see you with Robbie in the cafe and he is nice guy, you for him was liking before. So I don’t know.”

  You and me both, pally. You for me don’t know. But fortunately I didn’t say that. I didn’t know what to say. I was just looking in his eyes, his lovely yellow cat eyes, and then he kissed me on the mouth. Really gently. Then he did it again. And my naughty lips started going on snogging alert. He put his other hand on the back of my neck and pulled me nearer to him. I hope my towel doesn’t fall off and reveal mad elephant poo hair. This time he kissed me long and hard. It was so groovy and warm and I couldn’t tell where his mouth finished and mine started and then…some absolute arse shouted, “Oy, does his boyfriend know you are snogging him?”

  We both looked up and couldn’t see anyone, then I noticed a bit of a rustling behind the hedge of Mr. Across the Road’s garden. I leapt across and looked over the hedge and there in his ridiculous sports cap was Oscar, otherwise known as junior Blunderboy and tosser.

  I leapt over the hedge, gave him a swift kick in the kidneys and then hopped back to Masimo. Masimo was laughing.

  “Georgia, everyone is here, it is how you say, very busy….”

  He smiled at me and got up and sat on his scooter.

  I looked at him.

  He looked at me.

  He said, “So, Miss Georgia, now, what shall we do? I am free for you. Are you free for me also?”

  Good point. Well made. But what was the answer?

  I started thinking about mentioning my untrothness, but then thought about trying to describe that to anyone normal, and also Italian.

  Instead I took a deep breath and said, “I really like you, and think you are the bee’s knees, etc.”

  Masimo said, “I am the knees of a bee?”

  I said, “Well, forget about the bee thing, it’s just that…well, I think I have to talk to Robbie first properly.”

  Masimo smiled a little smile. “Yes, I think so, too. It is fair.”

  I watched him go down to the bottom of our road on his scooter. Oh no, now what had I done? I had practically refused to go out with a Luuurve God. I was clearly mentally deranged.

  I watched him get to the end of our street and indicate left…and then he did a big u-y and came hurtling back, screeching to a halt in front of me.

  He said, “Georgia, I forgot for what I came to tell you, I am going home to Italy after the gig for a month to see my family. Can you, would you, if you decide you are free for me, come and stay with me, with my family for a little?”

  Wow. We were practically married!!! And me in my towel!!!

  I didn’t really know what to say, so he said, “Think about this, caro, it would be beautiful.”

  And he rode off.

  I floated past King Buffoon (Dad), cleaning his car, and I didn’t even laugh when he said, “Fancy giving me a hand polishing the old Lovemobile?”

  in the kitchen

  Mum has tried to make Josh look like a human being, but the hair is scary. His mother will definitely inform the authorities. But ho hum, pig’s bum. I said as I went to my bedroom, “Don’t bother booking me up to go to Ireland with you, Mum as I will be holidaying just near Rome this summer.”

  She didn’t even bother to reply, which is a bit rude, but typical of her self-obsessed attitude.

  thursday july 21st

  8:30 a.m.

  Walking to Stalag 14 with Jas. I told her about Masimo coming round and snogging me. She said, “So what number did you get to?”

  “Well, I suppose officially it was only a number four, but his mental vibe was more like eight.”

  “Are you saying that mentally he was doing upper-body fondling indoors?”

  “Yep, I certainly am.”

  “But you were sitting on your wall outside.”

  “Well, officially but…”

  “And he had his hand on the back of your neck, which is not your u
pper body.”

  “Yes it is.”

  Jas was chewing on her chuddie and had that annoying look on her face like she was thinking. I hate that. She was droning on and on like Mrs. Droning on Knickers, which she is.

  “OK, in that case, if upper-body fondling doesn’t mean your nungas, it just means anything on the top of your waist. Then number seven and eight could be like nose fondling or chin fondling.”

  God, she is soooooo annoying. And fringey.

  “Jas, I am just trying to tell you what happened, this is not the Spanish Inquisition. You are not El Quasimodo.”

  She got into her Huffmobile then. “I didn’t make these snogging rules up, Georgia, you did.”

  We were just passing a litter bin and for a minute of ecstasy I thought about shoving her in botty-first like Dave and his mates did. But actually if I did shove her in there, she might get stuck because of her enormous pantaloonies and I would have to call the fire brigade to cut her out. Besides which, I must remember I want to stay at her house on Saturday night after the gig in case there are any ad-hoc snogging opportunities—so there’s no chance of Vati picking me up in his circus clown car.

  So instead of hitting her or anything, I just smiled my loveliest smile and said, “Jas, you know that you are my besty pal, and like the Wise Woman of the Forest to me. Can I just tell you what happened?”

  She flicked her fringe about and said, “Go on, then.”

  I told her all about the Italian holiday idea. Even she was quite impressed by that.

  “Wow, well that is like almost being an official girlfriend, isn’t it? You are really going to have to decide soon. But you don’t really know if Robbie likes you, do you? I mean you know he likes you like matewise, but does he think you are girlfriend material? I couldn’t stand being you, not knowing who my boyfriend was and everything. I was with Tom last night and we were just, you know, rearranging my owl collection into sizes together…it was really, oh I don’t know, and then he got hold of my hand and put my fingers in his mouth and sucked them.”

  I said, “Blimey, hand snogging, what number is that on the scale?”