I Should’ve Been A Boy

I’m PMSing. Yeah, not nice at all. I’m bloated, achy, and just plain catty. As I was sitting by my friend, Angus, in Theatre Studies, I said "Ang, I should’ve been a boy". It’s true because I would make a great boy. I’d be a girl’s knight in shining armor and treat her like my precious princess. Plus, my brown curls and blue eyes would make a very handsome boy, personally. I should’ve been a boy.

We had house soccer today and Cuddihy came out on top. WOOT! The first game was a score of 4 to nil and the second game was 5 to zip. As captain of house soccer (and self-proclaimed cheerleader), I was thrilled. Next week, I’m in the Singstar competition. I hope I actually know the songs.

On the bus today, neither Angus nor Tom sat by me. It kind of pissed me off but also made me a bit upset. So, I ignored them, slipped on my headphones, and took a much-needed nap (soccer is exhausting). I was half-asleep (I was but I could still hear my music) when Angus touched my shoulder and scared the living daylights out of me; I jumped so bad. He invited me to sit with him and Tom, which was so sweet of him. So, I did. I sat by Tom who pointed out that I was PMSing and offered his shoulder for me to sleep on. Of course, he recognized the signs; he has two older sisters, both of whom are far scarier than I. I ended up with my back against his chest and fell asleep with his hand in my hair. It was so sweet of him; he’s one of only a few guys I know who truly know how to treat a girl when she’s PMSing.