Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

be there? The woman has a shop to run, sales targets to meet, bills to pay. You wasted her time today, and that’s not okay.

Why is everything so hard?

I changed back into my hoodie, and because I had nowhere to go, I stayed at the thrift shop all day and alphabetized the book donations in the stockroom.

Now, that’s something I can see myself doing. Menial, mundane, mindless. And I didn’t have to speak to anyone. Except for Emma. I still can’t get over the color of her eyes. They are the palest blue; it’s insane.

Tomorrow I’m going to make a new plan regarding the job situation.

It cannot be this difficult!!!

Sunday, February 11 #JobSearchTake345219

Here are jobs I found in the Wimbledon Gazette that don’t involve talking to the general public:

Nanny. But I don’t like children.

Paper route. But I don’t want to get up at 4 A.M.

Dog walker. But I don’t want to pick up shit for a living.

I also looked if there were any jobs at the library, but the only “jobs” they’re advertising are voluntary, and let’s face it, a job you’re not getting paid for isn’t a job. It’s a hobby.

Maybe I should work my connections. Tyler Johnson works at that crap café by the train station, and I could ask him if they’re looking for anyone. I went in there once, and the woman literally didn’t even acknowledge my presence when I paid for a Coke. I can do that.

Matilda Hollingsworth works at Hollister, but there’s no point in me even asking, because you have to be proper fit to work there. Like Matilda, oh, and Jason Goodman. I swear if those two had children, they’d be, like, the next master race (not in a Nazi way, though).

Monday, February 12 #CardlessLoserAlert

The Valentine’s countdown is getting real.

Last year I got a card from Polly, but since she still hasn’t even wished me a happy new year, I reckon I’ll be cardless this year.

I really hate that it bothers me, because you’re not a better or worthier person just because someone felt pressured into buying you some meaningless crap.

5:43 P.M.

Should I make a card for Polly just in case she’s got one for me?

I could use watercolors, but instead of water, I’ll use my own tears. LOL.

Tuesday, February 13 #Cringe.com

Annie asked Polly if she and Tristan have had proper sex yet (i.e., intercourse).

Luckily, Polly did the classy thing of saying: “I’m sorry, Annie, but I don’t discuss my sex life in public.”

Miriam Patel cut in immediately and was like: “Oh, I know, it’s so tacky, neither do I.”

How is she missing the irony?

Wednesday, February 14 #Blech!

Kate’s such a weirdo. She gave me a massive handmade Valentine’s card from the designer cats, including actual pictures of each one. She made the writing all different and crooked, so it looks like the cats actually wrote it. (She’s so insane.)

Dear Phoebe,

Will you be our Valentine?

Lots of love, Mama Mimi and Sassy

When I got to school, Miriam Patel already looked like Miss Universe, holding bunches of flowers and three million cards.

And to think it’s all because of one pube …

I didn’t get anything from Polly. Lucky, too, because the card I made her last night looks horrendous. I put it in the recycling when I got home. Maybe it can be a shiny new card this time next year, and the person getting it may even give a shit.

Tristan got Polly a gigantic teddy bear holding a heart that reads GIRLFRIEND, I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK. Surprisingly, instead of actually dying of

a)  laughter or

b)  embarrassment,

Polly grinned like an idiot all day.

I have thought about her reaction long and hard, and I’ve concluded that it must be the hunter-gatherer instinct that’s somehow ingrained in our DNA.

So Polly, in a very cavewomanish way, thinks that Training Wheels has hunted and gathered this huge love token (possibly also symbolizing a giant penis) and is thus worthy of her love and fathering the next generation.

FYI, when I say “our DNA,” I mean Polly’s DNA, because I have actually come out of the cave, crossed the valley, discovered fire, and invented the wheel, etc., etc.

6:54 P.M.

Looks like I’m going to spend tonight with a crazy Scottish woman.

Kate and I are going to the Goat Tavern for dinner, because they’ve got a special Valentine’s Day 2-4-1 curry night. I don’t really fancy it, and it’s clearly for couples, but Kate was like: “You listen to me now, Phoebe. I’m not going to be punished for not having found love, and neither will you, so put on a frock, chin up, shoulders back, and let’s go.”

I don’t have a frock, so I’m wearing black skinny jeans as usual.

PS: According to my research, Valentine’s Day actually had nothing to do with love until love came into fashion in the eighteenth century, when lovers (not friends or distant relations) sent each other cards and maybe flowers. What this basically means is that the human race hasn’t evolved since then. Nothing ever stays in fashion that long, except maybe God.

Seriously, everyone needs to calm down about love.

Besides, tomorrow all Valentine’s merch will be one pound and in the bargain bin. If nothing else, that should really put things into perspective.

Thursday, February 15 #Gastroporn

The Goat has got to be in the bottom three of romantic eating establishments in SW19, coming in just ahead of Pizza Hut and KFC. Weirdly, though, everyone dressed like they were on Love Island.

When our waiter brought the food, he was all like: “Hi, I like your T-shirt. I’m a huge fan of the Stones.”

I honestly only wear it because it’s a tongue that’s constantly sticking out at people. It’s the socially acceptable way of holding up your middle finger all day long. But I was like: “Yeah, yay them.”

Kate was all: “Wish I was wearing a Stones T-shirt. That boy is beautiful,” and I was like: “Ew,” because he’s, like, twenty-five, and his biceps were bursting out of their short