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

and kissing it): Patricia, my darling. I’m always so delighted to see you.

Pat: Oh, Bill, stop it.

Bill: I’ve brought you a picture of myself floating in the Dead Sea. I know you’ve been curious to see what I look like in my swimming trunks ever since we first met.

Pat: Bill, really.

Melanie: Careful, Bill, or I’ll replace your head with that of Batman.

Then Bill passed the pictures around, and Emma was all like: “Bill, you’re the cutest.” And admittedly, he looked hilarious in his little yellow bathing shorts and straw hat.

He says it’s all true about the Dead Sea.

You can’t sink.

He says it feels like the water itself is trying to spit you back out. Apparently as soon as you try to go under, you pop back up again.

And then Melanie was like: “But don’t let them fool you into thinking it’s salt water.” Apparently she licked her own arm and was nearly sick. Bill reckons it tastes like battery fluid.

With all that Easter malarkey recently, and my rather delayed realization that my father was an actual human being who was Jewish, I’ve been asking myself the odd question about religion and Jesus, who was obviously also Jewish (oh, and FYI, Jesus on the cross sold), and I have thoughts: According to the Bible, Jesus walked on the Sea of Galilee that time he walked on water. But the Holy Land (i.e. Israel) is tiny, and the Sea of Galilee runs into the Dead Sea, so it’s probably more likely for them to have gotten their geography slightly wrong than for Jesus to have actually walked on regular water. And if Bill, who is not a small man, can stay afloat in the Dead Sea, I’m sure someone like Jesus could have walked on it.

Just saying.

I really think I should go to Israel one day. Maybe I’ll even find a god, since I wasn’t assigned one at birth.

When we closed up the shop tonight, Emma was like: “Are you still up for Monday?” And I was like: “Yes, of course.” And then Emma was like: “Let me give you my number. You can text me so I’ll have yours. Maybe we can get Starbucks on our way in?”

I was like: “’K.”

What’s wrong with me?

Suddenly I can’t speak in full sentences? Or say actual words?

I should have texted her straightaway, because it’s now two hours later and I’m reliving the Instagram-follow-request anxiety.

10:05 P.M.

I still haven’t texted her. I’ll do it now.

10:10 P.M.

What do I say?

10:13 P.M.

I’ll just ask her to meet at Starbucks on Monday because we’ve sort of agreed we wanted to do that anyway.

10:15 P.M.

When I say we’ve “sort of agreed” I mean that I basically said “’K,” which doesn’t actually mean anything and is a guttural croak at best.

Losing my mind.

10:17 P.M.

Why is this so awkward?

10:25 P.M.

I said:

Hi, do you want to meet at Starbucks at ten on Monday?

Done.

Phew.

OMG.

Get a grip.

10:28 P.M.

Emma texted back:

Looking forward to it. Good night. Sleep well. See you Monday. x

X!

What does that mean?

Are we x-ing?

Should I have x-ed?

11:10 P.M.

Melanie’s wrong, and it is actually salt in the Dead Sea.

According to the internet, it’s got a salinity of 34.2 percent and is one of the world’s saltiest bodies of water, apart from Lake Vanda in Antarctica (35 percent), Lake Assal in Djibouti (34.8 percent), Lagoon Garabogazköl in the Caspian Sea (up to 35 percent), and some hypersaline ponds and lakes of the McMurdo Dry Valleys in Antarctica such as Don Juan Pond (44 percent).

Sunday, March 25 #TheVaginalOrgasm

My search for Polly’s orgasm continues, and I’m going the extra mile.

When she said it wasn’t about the clitoris, she was talking about the vaginal orgasm.

And just like the “small, erectile organ,” a.k.a., the clitoris, this is yet another horrendous term that probably puts people right off getting into vaginas—like, literally.

I couldn’t find anything in the Medical Dictionary, so I looked online, and there’s loads.

So, apparently some people believe there’s no such thing as the G-spot, because what it is is basically just an extension of the clitoris, but many sexperts (not Tristan, LOL) say it’s definitely a thing, and the easiest way for a woman to achieve a vaginal orgasm is for her to lie down flat on her back, and tilt her hips upwards. That way the penis (regardless of size, apparently) can hit the right area inside the vagina.

Now, I could forward this article to Polly, but then she’d probably be all like: Don’t be so condescending, Phoebe; it’s not about the vaginal orgasm. (Even though it definitely is this time.)

I swear some people need to take more responsibility for their lives.

It’s all well and good Polly just wanting to talk to me about it, but that’s not going to solve her problem.

Also, if you have a conversation with someone, and a conversation being a two-way-sort-of-thing, why would you be offended when the other person gives you their opinion? I mean, did she just expect me to sit there and nod? Seriously, next time go and talk to a wall or something.

PS: I’m so dreading tomorrow.

I mean, I’m looking forward to Starbucks, even though, note to self, I’m going to have to remember not to order a soy chai latte, but a vanilla latte. Else Emma may think I’m a weird stalker.

But then I’m going to have to face the Kate and James show. Blech!

PPS: I spoke to Mum tonight, and I told her about working at the thrift shop, like, every day now, and she was just like: “That’s such an epic thing to be doing, Phoebe. I’m so proud of you.” But then she launched straight into: “Don’t forget you need to make a lot of time for studying as well. So if it gets too much, you’ll have to tell Kate no, okay? She’ll understand.”

I think her comments ticked at least two parenting-goal boxes. Well done, Mum. Excellent work.

Monday, March 26 #ItchyCentral

Emma and I met at Starbucks at ten, got drinks to go, and then we conquered Donation