Pigs and Princesses

A girl's perspective on school, life, girl issues and the people she divides into her own little groups of different kinds of human....


1. Pigs, Princesses and People like Me

Hasn’t everyone been to a place where they wish their parents never sent them? My place would be Manruse High, built for hairy-chinned, raving, dairy faced, dumb, ruthless, stocky people like me. To put it bluntly; I hate this school.
I was in class one day. The sable rain, I could see through the skylight, was dropping like dead flies over the grass. The sun was lamping through the trees, just a small shot of it through the clouds. Mr. Lorry was outside weeding the school yard. Such a dedicated man, he was. Out in this rain, doing gardening or whatever. Sometimes I wish I could just smash this window and look beyond it. Beyond the thick and red walls of this building and live life beyond test papers and mathematical text books. Out with the old and in with the new! No more half-hour recesses or detentions if a naughty word leaks out of the corner of your mouth. No more slippery, varnished corridors full of three kinds of people. Pigs, Princesses and People like Me. Yes; I keep my three kinds of people to myself because no; I don’t have a best friend to actually tell it to. An example of a Pig would be Mia Apathy who not only looks like one either. She got pimples at an early age and her face is sun-burnt red. I’ve surveyed her enough to know she eats two cupcakes at lunch and another at recess. She loves Barbies still at this “grown up” age, the teachers all say we have entered. They somewhat bitterly stated we should do things beyond our school life like mathematics club and The Zinc Sun safe Annual Parade. Which, as a matter of fact, I have to say is a total misjudgement. The Athletics Carnival and Teddy Bear Picnic mum makes me go to are hard enough.
Back to Mia Apathy. Her skin is all scabby and spotted with bunched, billowing barnacles for zits. She’s got dirt beneath her fingernails; which is a sign I can use to assume she doesn’t shower too often. Her cheeks are as round and fat as a bagel, her stomach is like a ballooning pillow and she’s never been asked out by any of the guys in my class, no surprise there. I don’t want to be mean, like the Princesses who I will get to in a minute, but I’m only speaking the clear truth. From the bottom of my heart, I like people like Mia Apathy, not because she’s the size of a bloated rhinoceros, but because she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She can do and say whatever she wants and will get away with it. Free as a bird, that child. I guess that’s alright to say; free as a bird. Maybe not as free as a bird, but her parents are better than mine. They let her eat whatever she wants.
Anyway; let us move onto the Princesses. An example in this area would be Eva Bushman. She’s in my class, two rows and three chairs away from where I sit. She’s got this sick monobrow everyone stares at. When she stares at you it’s like looking at an ugly Princess Layer and you have to swallow your chortles or you’ll have fist-shaped mark between your fringe and nose. Kayla Oaf is another Princess. Prettier in a way. Well, she doesn’t have one eye brow narrowed like a black caterpillar as thick as Mrs. Smites breath to start with. She uses a powdery foundation dulling her scarlet cheeks and raising her cheek bones. What I find yucky about her is you can see this rusty peach line of foundation running along her jaw, dividing her natural cream complexion from her makeup. What’s more is she cakes on the mascara and looks gooey at the end of her lashes. Her tall neck sits burrowed between two tight, small shoulders and she dots around on one leg shorter than the other. Both girls are mean as mean can get. It’s not just gooey mascara or too much makeup that makes me think they’re Princesses. It’s both them and many more in my class walking like penguins with the fingers on their left and right hand pointing opposite directions, just above where their shorts meet their shirts, acting like snotty snobs and wearing makeup too.

That classifies the one out of three kinds of people I dislike the most.
Now we move on to People like Me. Ordinary people, with hearts and heads. People like Me who do their studies, but have fun as well. People like Me who don’t wear makeup, we don’t walk like penguins, we don’t call people names, we don’t gossip behind someone’s back like Ugly Princess Layer. People like Me fit into this school, according to the teachers, not to the Princesses and Pigs but anyway. There you have the three kinds of people in my school. Of course boys merge into groups classified as Punks, Pimples and Black Sheep.
The teachers at Manruse have their own groups I like to slot them in. Pronunciation, Pestilent and Precious.
The Pronunciation group are teachers who irritably enough always correct your spelling and have clear voices, tonguing and talking all first to last period with strong pronunciation. Mrs. Smite is the worst one of all. When she talks its like someone set off a gas bomb and silicone-glued the windows shut, her breath is that awful. We have a few of those Punks I was talking about in our class and she’s always saying long words to describe their behaviour.
Cantankerous, knavish, wayward, ill-mannered. Why not just say, bad or idiots! I don’t suppose teachers are allowed to call students idiots. It’s better than listening to her spit nasty words at your face.
The Pestilent teachers are the annoying ones. They stand over your shoulder, leering down onto your desk like a night owl ready to pounce. I know Mr. Jackson is one. You can feel his heavy breathing down your neck. It can disgust me at times. It’s not that I don’t like Mr. Jackson, but he doesn’t fit into any other group. He hasn’t got a very wide vocabulary to start with and of course he cannot fit into my next group, Precious.
Most of the female teachers at Manruse are “precious”. They wear, knee-high skirts and dark lipstick, jewels on their neck and on their fingers and on their (gulp) toes. I know Mrs. Smite has a toe ring on her left foot when she took her shoes off for class party in fifth grade. She’s pretty old now, that woman. Probably almost sixty. I think she should retire. She’s got a lot of students at this school turning against her and I want neither Princesses nor Pigs nor Punks nor Pimples nor Black Sheep nor People like me to be hearsay about her behind her back. The biggest tale-bearer in my class is Julia Winston. I’ve never like Julia and it might be because of her tittle-tattle history.
 My favourite teacher would be Miss. Bernard. She’s got hair dark as red wine and a curved nose with custard skin. Her eyes are blue like mine and she wears just a thin layer of makeup so it can hardly make a difference to her natural appearance. She’s a sensible person unlike the Pigs or Princesses.  She isn’t mean to anyone and she never shouts in class. She’s young as well and she has freckles everywhere over her arms and her face.
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