My Dating Disasters Diary

• Praise for My Desperate Love Diary
  
• By the Same Author
  
• Title Page
  
• Copyright Page
  
• Dedication
  
• FRIDAY JANUARY 1ST
  
• MONDAY FEBRUARY 1ST
  
• MONDAY MARCH 1ST
  
• THURSDAY APRIL 1ST
  
• WEDNESDAY MAY 5TH
  
• FRIDAY JUNE 4TH
  
• SATURDAY JULY 10TH
  
• SUNDAY AUGUST 1ST
  
• WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 1ST
  
• SATURDAY OCTOBER 2ND
  
• MONDAY NOVEMBER 1ST
  
• WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 1ST
  
• My desperate Love Diary
  
• My now or NEVER Diary
  
• JUMPING TO CONFUSIONS
  
• SPLIT BY A KISS
  

I hurried after him. 'So, erm, are you my boyfriend now?'

He turned to me. 'No, Kelly Ann. I don't want to be
your boyfriend.'

'But why not? You said you liked me. It's because I'm
not blonde, isn't it?'

'No, it's not that.'

'Too skinny?'

'Nah, it's just, well, um, no offence but, you know, I
want a girlfriend and you're just, well, not sort of girly
enough. More like a boy really.'

'Oh.'

'You're not upset? I mean, I never promised to go out
with you. Today was just a sort of trial. It's not like I'm
dumping you or anything.'

I flushed. Bloody hell, he wasn't feeling sorry for me,
was he? I put on a totally unconcerned, happy voice.
'God, no, it's cool. No worries.'

'Heartfelt but at the same time fantastically funny, this is
a must read' MIZZ

'A feel-good summer read' SUN

'Very funny . . . the reader is drawn directly into Kelly
Ann's world' WRITERS' NEWS

www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

Also by Liz Rettig:

My Desperate Love Diary

My Now or Never Diary

Jumping to Confusions

by Kelly Ann

Liz Rettig

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

ISBN 9781407048604

Version 1.0

www.randomhouse.co.uk

MY DATING DISASTERS DIARY
A CORGI BOOK

ISBN: 9781407048604

Version 1.0

Published in Great Britain by Corgi Books,
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
A Random House Group Company

This edition published 2009

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Copyright © Liz Rettig, 2009

The right of Liz Rettig to be identified as the author of this work has been
asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

Set in 11/16pt Palatino by
Falcon Oast Graphic Art Ltd.

Corgi Books are published by Random House Children's Books,
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk
www.rbooks.co.uk

Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be
found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This book is dedicated to my son Chris
and my daughter Carol

With special thanks to Guy Rose, Kelly Hurst,
and my long-suffering husband Paul

I'm also grateful to Prince Charles and
Professor Richard Dawkins for
inspiring (unknowingly) some of the
fun in this book

And last, but by no means least, a huge thank you to all
my Kelly Ann fans around the world

I never have and I never will fancy any of the stupid boys
at my school but I'm going to have to pretend I do or
people will start thinking I'm weird. Honestly, just
because I like football and can't be bothered with makeup,
that doesn't make me a freak. Or a lesbian, as some
people have suggested.

My best friend Liz, who's really into psychology, has
tried to explain my tomboyish tendencies by saying that
I'm suffering from a severe case of penis envy. She told
me that a man called Freud, who was the most famous
and brilliant psychologist in the world ever, has said that
all girls are jealous of boys because they've got penises
and we haven't. Most girls sort of get over it but
obviously I'm still eaten up with jealousy, which is why I
try to be like boys.

Told Liz that this was rubbish. This Freud person
might have been really brilliant but he must have been
totally mental too. And he obviously never played football
either. There's no way I'd want to have a penis, etc.

Especially when I see boys doubled up in agony after
they've been hit with a football in the groin. It's just that
I like to do lots of stuff that boys enjoy. What's wrong
with that?

My parents aren't much help either, and Mum
especially is always on at me these days.

You'd think they'd be happy I'm not interested in
chasing boys so there's no chance of me getting pregnant
and becoming a gymslip mum like the newspapers are
always on about, but no.

When I pointed this out to them today, Mum said, 'You
a mum? Don't make me laugh. Remember the doll we
bought you for your seventh birthday? The one whose
head you tore off and used for a football?'

This wasn't true actually. It was Chris's friend Gary
who decapitated the doll when we couldn't find a ball to
play with. But, OK, I didn't stop him, and since it was
done anyway, there was no point in refusing to join in the
game. Didn't mention any of this to Mum – even though
it all happened seven years ago, it would only set her off
again about how much the doll cost (it cried 'real tears'
and wet itself!) – so she droned on.

'And the pram that you tied ropes to and used as a
go-kart?'

This
was
true, I suppose, although of course I could
only go downhill, and steering was a problem so I
ended up knocking out my front tooth on a lamppost but
it had been wobbly (the tooth, not the lamppost, of
course) and due to come out anyway. Despite this my
parents refused to fork out the usual one pound Tooth
Fairy money, which I thought was a bit mean.

My dad's attitude doesn't help much either. When I
mentioned the gymslip mum stuff to him he just glanced
up from his paper and said, 'Do girls wear gymslips these
days? I never see you in anything but scruffy jeans with
holes in the arse and knees.'

So much for parental support. Wish everyone would
just leave me alone. Still, I suppose I'll have to try and be
a bit more feminine this year, if only to shut annoying
people up, so I've added some girl stuff to my New Year
resolutions:

My New Year Resolutions:

1. Never to argue with English teachers

If I'm tempted, I only have to remember what
happened when I complained about being cast as the
greedy, grumpy mum in
Jack and the Beanstalk
at
Christmas. Mrs Conner changed my part to the back end
of the cow Jack sold for magic beans at the market.
Wouldn't have minded so much but the front half was
Terry Docherty, who has personal hygiene problems –
and excessive flatulence. I nearly passed out several times
trying to hold my breath so as not to inhale the fumes.

2. To play for the school football team.

Though how I'm going to persuade our totally sexist
PE teacher to let me join I don't know. Why can't he see
that I'm just as good as any boy at football? Also I can
swear and foul people better than most.

3. To grow proper breasts.

Not that I really want them as I'm sure they will slow
me down at sports and encourage idiot boys to try and
look down my front like they are always trying to do with
Liz, who is a double D already. Still, I don't want to be
a freak and I'm getting totally fed up with being
called stupid names like Goose Bumps and Ikea Girl
(flat-packed, ha ha).

My Aunt Kate has given me a leaflet with illustrated
chest exercises to do. She says they helped her when she
was my age but I'm
not
going to do them while chanting,
I must, I must, I must improve my bust!
as she suggested. I
mean, it's not voodoo or anything so results can't depend
on reciting a stupid mantra.

Mum doesn't think the exercises will work as she says
they are really to develop supporting muscles for boobs
and 'Ha ha, you don't really have anything
to
support yet,
Kelly Ann.' Thanks, Mum. But I'll give the exercises a try
anyway. Failing that I'll just have to save up for implants.

4. Never, ever to make a total idiot of myself by falling for
any stupid boy.

Nearly all my friends have done this now – even Liz,
who wore perfume that smelled like cat pee for a whole
week because a boy she fancied said he liked it (until he
told her he'd been joking and it smelled like cat pee). Still,
that isn't as bad as some people like Fiona McNulty, who
still keeps a Kleenex her boyfriend borrowed to blow his
nose on their first date. I just can't understand it. Now
don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against boys. In fact
one of my best friends, Chris, is a boy, and he's great. Also
boys are generally better at football, PlayStation games
and climbing billboards – all stuff I really like – so they
can actually be more fun than girls sometimes. But,
honestly, fancy (never mind fall in love with) any of
them? I mean, most of them are total idiots (except for
people like Chris, who I must admit is really super smart
and wants to be a doctor), and not many of them look like
film stars exactly.

5. To snog at least one boy this year.

Yeah, I know this doesn't seem to gel with what I've
just said but the fact is, my arch enemy Shelly is spreading
rumours at school that I'm a lesbian. Just because I
don't snog boys. Not that there's anything wrong with
being gay of course, if you are gay, but I'm not and I
definitely don't fancy girls. I guess the easiest way to stop
Shelly is to get spotted tonguing some boy but I'm not
sure who or how. Also it has occurred to me that maybe
I'm not all that snoggable. I'm not blonde or busty like
Liz, which is what most guys seem to like (though Liz
says not). She is slightly plump, which really annoys her
so she's always on some stupid diet or other. She says that
guys actually like skinny girls like me but that, yeah,
developing boobs might help.

Maybe I could bribe some boy to snog me? I bet Gary,
Chris's best friend, would snog me if I lent him my
PlayStation game
Demon Assassins
. He loves that game
but can't find it anywhere now. But what if he told people
about it afterwards? Could I trust Gary, or any boy really,
to keep his mouth shut? If word got round that I'd
practically paid someone to snog me it would be just too
humiliating. No, it's too risky. I'll just have to try and
attract one of them, though God knows how I'm
supposed to do that.

Chris was a bit weird today. He came round to my house
in the afternoon but when I opened the door to him,
instead of walking in like normal he just stood there and
gawped at me. Then he said, 'You look nice, Kelly Ann.'

I stared back at him, surprised. 'What?'

Then he seemed to realize how odd he'd sounded as
he reddened and explained, 'I mean the skirt. Your skirt is
nice. A Christmas present?'

I looked down at the short pink skirt Aunt Kate had
bought me and frowned. Hated the stupid thing. I mean,
did she have to buy pink? Anyway, I hate wearing skirts
and much prefer jeans or combats but Mum has made me
wear it. She says I'm too old to be a tomboy now and
everyone will think I'm a dyke if I carry on like this.

Told Mum she can't call people that now, it's not right,
and she has to say female gay person. Mum said, female
gay person her arse, she hadn't got time for long-winded
talk like that, but anyway I'd wear the skirt Aunt Kate
bought for me or else. And while she was at it, the day
I've got the money to fork out on my own clothes will be
the day I tell her what to say or not to say in her own
house, but she wouldn't advise it even then if I wanted to
avoid a black eye and that's if I was lucky.

Charming.

I was still thinking about my argument with Mum
when she came up behind me, smoking a fag as usual.

'Are you two going to stay there all day with the door
wide open letting the cold in? It's Baltic out there, for
God's sake. Well seen you lot don't pay the gas bill.'

Chris came in, closed the door behind him and said,
'Happy New Year, Mrs—'

Still annoyed with Mum, I interrupted, 'You can't let
cold in, you can only let heat out.' I looked at Chris now.
'Isn't that right, Chris?'

I wasn't good at science the way Chris was, but I
remember some teacher talking about this last year. I was
sure Chris would back me up, but he wimped out.

He said, 'Er, erm, it depends on how you look at it, I
suppose.'

My dad joined us in the hall then. 'There speaks a
diplomat.' He shook Chris's hand. 'Happy New Year, son.

Come on in and have a drink.'

We all piled into the living room, where my big sister
Angela was sitting amusing herself by picking bits of
pink fluff off a black jacket. She's done this every day
since Christmas, when her boyfriend bought her an
angora scarf which moults onto everything it touches. I'd
have got rid of them (scarf and stupid boyfriend) but my
sister is the sort of sad person who probably finds
purpose in this pointless, neverending activity.

Since it was the first time Chris has been here since the
New Year, Dad offered him a 'Lite' beer, which he usually
keeps for adults who are driving and don't want to go
over the limit. Don't know how anyone can drink beer.
Even the smell of it is awful. Must say I'm glad I'm not a
boy and so won't have to spend a lifetime drinking such
vile stuff, although Chris seemed happy enough to accept
it.

Mum and Dad used this lame excuse to start drinking
more alcohol too ('hair of the dog', Dad called it) but I just
had Irn Bru. We toasted the New Year yet again, then
Chris was made to kiss Mum and Angela. He must have
thought he'd have to kiss me too as he leaned over
towards me, but I saved him from this embarrassment by
pulling away and high-fiving him.

Dad made the usual idiotic conversation with Chris
that adults all seem to think is expected. 'Christ, son, you
haven't half grown. You can't be far off six feet. Must be
nearly as tall as your dad now and he's no midget.'

Chris muttered some polite reply.

I said, 'You only saw Chris a week ago, Dad. He can't
have grown that much since then. He's not a mushroom.'
I turned to Chris. 'C'mon, let's go upstairs. We can have a
go on the new game I got for Christmas. Bring your beer
with you.'

I made for the door and Chris got up to follow me but
then Angela butted in with, 'Mum, you're not going to let
her take a boy to her bedroom, are you? She's fourteen.
Much too old for that now. You never let me take
boyfriends to my bedroom, do you?'

Mum said, 'Oh for God's sake, Angela, it's only Chris.'

Dad backed her up. 'Don't be daft, Angela. They've
known each other since they were not long out of
nappies. Chris is just a pal.'

'Still, it's not fair,' Angela huffed. She looked at Mum.
'Aren't you going to stop her then?'

'Like your father said, she's known him since she gave
up nappies.' Mum looked at me and laughed. 'That will
be nearly three years then.'

I sighed. 'Yeah, right, very funny, Mum.'

'Well, you did take a bloody long time to potty train.
I'd visions of having to buy you Pampers for a wedding
present.'

Why do all adults want to embarrass teenagers? Even
people like your parents who are supposed to care about
you. Come to think of it,
especially
people like your parents.
Mind you, I think I must have the most embarrassing
parents in the entire world. Even when, unlike Mum just
now, they're not deliberately trying to be.

I said, 'Look, Chris, why don't we just go to your
house? I could do with getting out of here for a while.'

Chris agreed so he quickly gulped down the rest of his
beer and followed me into the hall. I put on my jacket
then sat down on the stairs to pull on my trainers. Angela
came out at this point. She said, 'What do you think
you're doing?'

I tucked my laces into the sides of the trainers and
stood up. 'What does it look like I'm doing? Duh!'

'You can't wear those with a skirt.'

'Can.'

'Can't.'

'Can, can, can.'

'Can't, can't— Oh, this is childish.' She opened the
living-room door and screeched, 'Mum, look what she's
wearing!'

Mum came out, still smoking her fag. Or probably
another fag. 'Oh, for Christ's sake, what is it now?' She
looked down at my feet and laughed. 'Bloody hell. It's
Florence.'

'Florence Nightingale?' I said, puzzled. Couldn't see
how I looked like a Victorian nurse.

'Florence from
The Magic Roundabout
, you eejit. Now
go put on the shoes I bought you for Christmas. You
asked for them, after all. They cost forty pounds and I'll
be buggered if they're going to waste.'

'I asked for new trainers, not stupid high heels I can't
walk in.'

But it was no use. Mum made me put them on. I'm
sure Angela is to blame for this. She's probably told
Mum I'm getting slagged off at school for being too
boyish. Mum never used to notice or care what I wore
before.