My Dating Disasters Diary

by Liz Rettig

  They were chocolate peanut butter sandwiches too. Serves her right.

  TUESDAY AUGUST 31ST

  Stephanie has found a boyfriend already, which doesn’t really surprise me. He’s not at our school though as he’s seventeen and has a job. She won’t tell us what he actually does. Just says we’ll find out when we meet him sometime soon.

  Liz has also started going out with a boy in our maths class. I’m really happy for my friends of course, but honestly, did they both have to start dating at the same time? Couldn’t they take it in turns or something so I’d have someone to hang out with at the weekend?

  ‘What’s the matter, Kelly Ann?’ Stephanie said at break, sounding puzzled. ‘You look miserable.’

  ‘Nothing. I’m fine. Perfectly happy.’

  Liz glanced at me. ‘Yeah, right. About as happy as a turkey who knows it’s coming up for Christmas. C’mon, Kelly Ann. Just because we’ve met some boys doesn’t mean we’re going to abandon you.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but I’ll have nothing to do at the weekend.’

  Stephanie said, ‘Why don’t you pick up some boy if you’re bored? There’s plenty of them about.’

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ I moaned. ‘I’ve tried but no one seems to fancy me. I’ve never had a boyfriend.’

  Stephanie was shocked. ‘Never! Oh my God. I mean, what have you been doing for the last five years? Knitting?’

  Five years? Bloody hell. Does Stephanie think people should have boyfriends the moment they hit double figures? Hmm, she probably does.

  I felt more miserable than ever. Maybe now that Stephanie realized what a sad loser I was she wouldn’t want anything to do with me.

  She must have noticed my grim face as she said, ‘God, I’m sorry, Kelly Ann. I was just so, um, amazed that anyone could, well, survive like that. But it’s rubbish that no one fancies you. I’m sure loads of guys do. You’re just not giving out the right signals.’

  ‘What signals?’

  Stephanie laughed. ‘The ones that say you might be a lot of fun if they’re ever lucky enough to find out.’

  I wasn’t convinced it was as simple as that and tried to change the subject but Stephanie has decided she’s going to sort out my ‘ridiculous boy problem’.

  ‘No really, Kelly Ann, you have potential.’ She gazed at my face and nodded. ‘Great bone structure. You could be a model.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, no, not really. You’re not tall enough. Still, you’ve got a nice face. Hmm, of course we’ll have to do something about the spots. A good foundation and extrathick concealer perhaps. And the hair. Nothing a top-class stylist can’t sort though.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, wondering if maybe a burka was the answer.

  ‘And you’ve got a fabulous figure.’

  ‘I have?’ I said, smiling.

  ‘God, yeah. Well, except for those.’ She eyed my chest area. ‘Still, you can always pad up, then I’ll show you how to use highlighter and shaders to fake a cleavage.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think—’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Stephanie said. ‘Trust me, no one knows as much about make-up and fashion as me. Or boys. We’ll start next week.’

  It was true. If Stephanie couldn’t show me how to get a boyfriend, no one could. Next month might just be a lot more exciting than I could ever have thought.

  WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 1ST

  Mrs Conner is back. Knew she’d been on compassionate leave since the holidays so I thought at first that someone in her family had died. Was gobsmacked to learn the truth. Her devoted husband has chucked her and run off with his secretary.

  Mrs Conner is furious. She used her ‘compassionate leave’ to cut up all her ex-husband’s expensive Italian suits and silk shirts, burn his entire CD and DVD collection along with his golf clubs, and sell his Mercedes to his business rival. We know all this as she’s posted all the details with pictures on the Internet, along with a 100,000-word blog saying some very unflattering things about him.

  At least we think they are very unflattering things but since Mrs Conner rarely uses words with less than four syllables it’s difficult to be sure. However, we’re pretty certain calling her husband a mendacious dissembling canker of putrescent crapulence wasn’t meant as a compliment. She also posted a video clip (called Adonis Slumbers) of him sleeping starkers except for a pair of yellow and black Homer Simpson underpants and red fluffy Santa Claus socks with bells on. His mouth was wide open and slightly drooling, plus he snored loudly the whole time except when he belched or worse. Gross.

  We had English last period today. Mrs Conner was in a foul mood and gave half the class punishment exercises, but fortunately only the boy half. She has also said that this term we are going to focus, not on love and passion, but on the truly great themes of fine literature: betrayal, revenge and death. Cool. Sounds like English might be a lot more fun now. Unless you’re a boy.

  Went to Liz’s with Stephanie after school. Liz agrees with Stephanie about my need to get a boyfriend. Or, as she put it, at this stage in my psychosocial development it’s time to stop sublimating my sexual urges and start gratifying them.

  Told Liz I wasn’t a slapper and there was no way I was doing it with anybody yet.

  ‘I’m not talking about actual sex, Kelly Ann, but maybe at least some snogging. You can’t stay a virgin lips for ever.’

  Stephanie told me I’d have to get an entire new wardrobe and a mobile. I was pretty sure I could persuade Mum to give me some money for clothes, especially if I tell her I’m going to buy a skirt or dress, but didn’t know about the mobile.

  ‘Anyway, why do I need a mobile?’ I asked.

  Stephanie looked at me incredulously. ‘How can you possibly have a social life or a boyfriend without one?’

  It was true. Not having a mobile is like a social death sentence: how am I ever supposed to get a boyfriend if no one can call me without running the risk of having to speak to one of my parents first?

  But my parents have always refused to buy me one. Well, not quite true. They’ve refused to buy me a mobile again. Two years ago they bought me one for my birthday but I lost it the same day. Not really sure where I lost it, but I think it was probably at the billboards near my house – I climbed them that afternoon, then practised my new trick of hanging upside on them. Quite safe really, so long as you hook your hands and feet around the beams.

  Anyway, the result was that my parents have refused ever since to buy me another so now I’m just about the only girl in my year who hasn’t got a mobile. It’s so embarrassing.

  THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 2ND

  I asked Dad again for a new mobile. Told him I was a lot older and more responsible now and that everyone else on the planet had a mobile. Even ancient nomadic tribes in Outer Mongolia had mobiles these days. Wasn’t sure that was really true, but it probably was. However, Dad wouldn’t budge.

  He just said that a mobile would probably be useful for nomadic tribes in Outer Mongolia to keep in touch over long distances, where there weren’t any telephone lines, and that if we lived in such a tribe he’d be sure and get me one. However, he wasn’t going to spend a fortune on me just so I could send daft texts about sod all to pals I’d been talking to all day anyway, then lose the bloody thing. And besides, it was bad for my health. Might give me brain cancer.

  ‘Yes, Kelly Ann, love, that’s the real reason your mum and me don’t want you to have one. We’re only thinking of your welfare.’

  I’d heard this stupid excuse before and hadn’t known how to get round this supposed concern for my welfare but now I was ready for it.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘in that case why did you let me have one in the first place?’

  Dad had no answer to that one but typically Mum did.

  She laughed and said, ‘Truth is, we used not to like you much but you’ve grown on us since. Now go make us a cup of tea and shut your moaning face.’

  Charming. But Mum said she’d think about the mobile thing
although I wasn’t to nag her meantime.

  FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 3RD

  Mum said, ‘You can have the mobile I bought a while back but never use. You’ll have to pay for all your calls though. Don’t ask me to bail you out.’

  Mum had bought a mobile and never used it? I didn’t know that. She probably couldn’t handle the modern technology. She can barely manage the TV remote control and still doesn’t know what most of the buttons are for. But anyway, this was fabulous news for me.

  Dad smiled. ‘I’ll away upstairs and get it for you, love. I charged it up last night so you’ll be able to use it right away.’

  Oh God, I so love my parents sometimes.

  Dad returned and, still smiling, handed me a large black block that was so heavy it could have been used by a mafia hitman to weigh down a corpse before dumping it into the river, ensuring it would sink for all eternity.

  I screamed, ‘I can’t use this … this monster.’

  ‘What’s the matter, love? Your mum bought it second hand a good few years ago but I tested it this morning and it works fine. You wanted a mobile, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I wanted a MOBILE! The only way this … this thing could be called mobile is if you dragged it into your garage and fitted it with four wheels and an engine. Mobile my arse!’

  Then I stomped off to my room and slammed the door.

  My parents are hopeless. Totally. I’d be a laughing stock if I was ever spotted with something like that. Why can’t they see that?

  SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 5TH

  Mum is still refusing to buy me a phone but did give me thirty pounds for new clothes when I complained about having sod all to wear. Stephanie said she’d come shopping with me: she didn’t look for anything for herself and spent the whole time picking out stuff she thought I’d suit then marching me to the changing rooms with armfuls of clothing.

  Unfortunately nearly everything Stephanie liked was way too dear but eventually she found a short denim skirt in TopShop and a deep pink T-shirt in H&M which I could afford and looked really nice on me.

  When I got home I tried on my purchases again, this time with my high heels, and inspected myself in Angela’s full-length mirror. Yeah, Stephanie was right. The outfit did look much better with heels. Decided to keep it on.

  Was still wearing it when Chris came over later to watch Man U versus Chelsea.

  He looked at me, surprised. ‘You look nice, Kelly Ann.’

  ‘Thanks. Stephanie helped me pick the outfit.’

  ‘It suits you. You look, well, um, very pretty.’

  ‘Good. Maybe Stephanie’s plan to get me a boyfriend will work then.’

  ‘Thought you weren’t interested in boyfriends.’

  ‘Well, I am now. And I’m totally fed up being the only one of my friends without one.’

  Chris frowned. ‘I don’t think you should date someone just because your friends are, Kelly Ann. You should only go out with a boy because you really want to. Because you think they’re special.’

  Typical Chris answer but he doesn’t understand. None of his friends are dating anyone right now. Hmm, good point. Maybe Chris could help me find a boyfriend.

  ‘Chris, do you think you could find out if any of your friends fancy me? Or maybe the boys from other schools you play football with? It would be great if you could ask around and—’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me this!’

  Bloody hell. Chris looked really pissed off. ‘What’s up with—?’

  ‘What do you think I am? A dating agency?’ he raged on. ‘Find your own boyfriend. Shouldn’t be too hard as you seem to have absolutely no standards whatsoever.’

  Then he shoved on his jacket and marched out, banging the door shut behind him. And the game hadn’t even started.

  MONDAY SEPTEMBER 6TH

  Chris avoided me at school this morning so it seems he is still in a mood. Told Liz about it and she agrees that Chris was totally out of order yesterday. She cornered him at lunch time to offer him ‘anger management therapy’. He told Liz he didn’t need anger therapy and why didn’t she mind her own ******* business.

  Hmm. Don’t understand why he was so pissed off with me. Maybe he thought I’d meant him to set me up with his best pals Gary or Ian, which I definitely hadn’t. But then again, why should Chris care who I dated? Hope this doesn’t mean Chris and I fall out for ages again.

  I needn’t have worried. Chris came over tonight and, once we’d gone upstairs to my room, apologized for his weird behaviour yesterday. He had calmed down a lot and now seemed just embarrassed by the whole thing.

  ‘Don’t really know why I did that, Kelly Ann. Sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you were a bit mental but it’s not like you normally so let’s just forget it.’

  ‘Cool.’

  We were quiet for a moment, then Chris said thoughtfully, ‘Maybe it’s because you seem to be changing somehow.’

  I shrugged. ‘Everybody changes.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but, well … you won’t change too much, will you? You’ll still be my Kelly Ann?’

  ‘Course, don’t be stupid,’ I said, puzzled.

  ‘Great.’ He looked at my PlayStation console. ‘So, do you want a game?’ He picked up a controller and held out the other one to me.

  ‘Yeah, but just wait a minute until my nail varnish dries. I’d just put it on before you came and I don’t want it to smudge.’

  Chris looked at me with raised eyebrows and smiled.

  Hmm, maybe he’s right and I am changing. But not so much that I’ll ever stop being friends with Chris. That would never happen.

  TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 7TH

  Mrs Conner was ranting on today about how us females have been oppressed by males for centuries. Some people say she’s just got it in for men because her husband dumped her but I’m not sure. I think she’s dead right about it being totally unfair that girls haven’t always been allowed to vote. And I was gobsmacked when she told us that brave suffragettes had to chain themselves to railings and throw themselves under carriages (although not at the same time of course) to force selfish up-themselves male politicians to give us the vote.

  Yeah, maybe Mrs Conner is right and we need to keep an eye on guys in case they try and oppress us.

  Was talking about the voting thing with Mum at tea tonight. Thought she’d be outraged like me, but instead she just lit up a fag and said, ‘Aye, well, they needn’t have bothered their arses. Look what clowns we’ve got to choose from these days. Greedy, useless, lying buggers, the whole sodding lot of them.’

  Honestly, Mum is so cynical about everything. And she didn’t take my concern about the oppression of females any more seriously. Just advised me that if any guy ever tried to oppress me I was to knee him hard in the you-know-whats. That’s what she always did and it worked for her.

  Hmm.

  WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 8TH

  Mrs Conner was still on about male oppression today and asked if anyone had had any personal experience of ‘gender-based discrimination’. There were some blank faces so she sighed and said, ‘That means boys being unfair to girls.’

  There were a flood of complaints after that.

  ‘My boyfriend only bought me a card at Valentine’s and I got him a DVD and a box of chocolates.’

  ‘My big brother always leaves the seat up in the toilet.’

  ‘My dad won’t let my boyfriend stay over but he’s fine about my brother having his girlfriend to stay. Well, since they got married anyway.’

  Mrs Conner wasn’t interested in any of these but when I told her that Ferguson wouldn’t let me join the boys’ football team because I was a girl, she was outraged.

  She was going to get to the bottom of this apparent injustice. There was no way she was going to countenance sex discrimination in her very own place of work. She would be discussing this issue with Mr Ferguson directly.

  FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 10TH

  Mrs Conner arranged a meeting to discuss thing
s with Mr Ferguson and me in the English department in the second half of the lunch-hour. I kept my mouth shut the entire time but Mrs Conner had plenty to say as usual.

  Mr Ferguson listened politely for a while but finally interrupted her. ‘No way!’ Seeing Mrs Conner’s shocked look, he went on a bit more calmly, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Conner, but that’s just not an option. Out of the question, I’m afraid.’

  Mrs Conner smiled – a dangerous sign. ‘Perhaps we should discuss this later, Mr Ferguson.’

  ‘Nothing to discuss, Mrs Conner. I’ve made my decision as PE principal and I’m afraid it’s nonnegotiable.’

  Oh my God. Ferguson was either a lot braver or more moronic than I thought.

  ‘On the contrary, Mr Ferguson,’ Mrs Conner said in a menacingly polite tone. ‘There is, in fact, a great deal to discuss. Oh yes, a great deal.’ She put her elbows on the desk and brought her fingertips together in front of her. This was almost always a sign that she intended to talk for a very long time, sometimes for an entire double period.

  Mr Ferguson seemed to know this too, and I caught him glance longingly at the door before being forced to focus on Mrs Conner again as she continued, ‘Clearly an informed judgement cannot possibly be reached without first considering the social, political, historical and, I hardly need mention, philosophical context of gender discrimination up to and including radical postmodern theory. Don’t you think?’

  Mr Ferguson muttered, ‘Well, um, maybe, I’m not sure.’

  ‘But I am, Mr Ferguson. And surely you’ll agree that one cannot really have any meaningful debate about equality of opportunity for females in sport without first exploring the concept of gender per se, including its relevance to the issue of identity and whether, as some would argue, it is in fact a social construct rather than a biological phenomenon?’

  Mrs Conner paused, supposedly to give Mr Ferguson a chance to say something. Yeah, right. Ferguson obviously had no clue how to answer this and his openmouthed slack-jawed expression showed it, so Mrs Conner went on relentlessly.