Eight more minutes and then I'm off this computer, off this seat and out of this building. Eight minutes more and I'd be dragging my feet towards the chapel for the singing practice. Eight minutes more till I officially go bored.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about the singing practice. What I'm complaining about is the heat. I'd be so hot that my sweat would literally pour out of my skin and you wouldn't need magnifying glasses to trace their movement downward.
Oh, those hard, stone-hard, seats, yeah, I'm complaining about that, too. I mean, thirty minutes of sitting on one of those chairs or on of those pews is already worth giving me a one-week trip to the spa to massage my butt in order for me to feel it again. Imagine an hour and a half sitting on one of those and imagine me not complaining. Not likely. Most definitely not.
But what good will complaining do? The school won't listen to me and would even reprimand me. Hell, they'd give me an hour of lecturing about sacrifice and all those whatnots. So, the best things to do is to keep quiet, open your mouth, sing, endure but quietly complain.
I'm a typical fifteen-year-old. Surely you don't expect me not to complain, right?
1 comment:
At least the two of us complain with a smile. :)
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