Poor Little Rich Girl | ✓

Chapter 29: Faster Than You Can Milk A Cow

Chapter 29: Faster Than You Can Milk A Cow

“Hey, you do know that you don’t have to do this, right?” Wesley asks, handing me a black ballpoint ink pen.

“Yes, I know that,” I sigh, taking it from him and pressing the pen to the crisp paper before me. “But I want to.”

“Are you sure? You actually want to do this? Not just because your family wants you to, right?” Wesley queries.

“I’m completely sure,” I confirm with a small nod, beginning to write my full name in print as clearly as I can and then my birthday down below it in a box. Today is the eve of the 4th of July, which means that today is obviously the 3rd of July. Three weeks ago, our high school let out for the nice and lengthy summer vacation—  and when I say lengthy, I do mean lengthy; we don’t go back until the middle of September, which is really nice since at the private school that Spencer and I both attended back in California let us out in mid-June and we’d go back in early August. And that is extremely stupid, if you ask me. It’s really nice though, to be on summer vacation, because even though this summer isn’t as glamorous as my past summers—  Greece, Rome, Paris and South Africa—  it’s okay because I’m spending it the entire time off with my boyfriend who is perfect and amazing and a lot more fun than some old foreign country.

Besides, he’s taken me to five rodeos now, not including the one we went to on our date, and I don’t know why, but I really, really love them. Especially the bull riding ones. The others are nice as well, I think, but the bull riding is my favorite. Something about a guy trying to hold onto an angry and bucking bull for the minimum time without being injured just entertains me greatly. Knowing that I’m officially a senior in high school is also a pretty amazing feeling. Especially when you never thought that you’d be able to hang in there long enough to make it.

The rodeos and being an official senior and all are both really nice, but I think the best part of summer—  aside from spending it with my fabulous boyfriend and wonderful friends, besides Benjamin because he’s leaving in a few days for college—  is that I actually get to sleep. Like, really sleep. My grandmother doesn’t use her demented air horn thing to wake me up anymore since I got out of school and I really appreciate that.

Sure, I still have to do the chores, I just have to do them later and while they are very icky, I can manage. Granted by the time I wake up, normally I’ve missed breakfast and lunch, so I’m starving, but still, it’s worth it, I think. Wesley and I usually just go to IHOP or Waffle House once I wake up—  because he wakes up like, strangely early every day—  and eat to our heart’s content. Which is a really terrible thing to do because we do that like, every other day and that’s a lot of money now that I think about it, and also that stuff is really unhealthy. Really unhealthy but oh so, so good.

Currently, Wesley and I are in my bedroom and therefore obviously at my grandmother’s house. It’s been about three and a half weeks since that disastrous dinner we had with my family and I’m proud to say that we’re still together. I mean, I think that’s obvious, but still. Not that I’m surprised or anything because I knew that Wesley and I had and still do have a strong relationship that even my horrible mother and dreadful grandmother couldn’t destroy. I think he was a little offended by some of the stuff that happened that night, but he won’t admit it.

Honestly though, I was surprised when he didn’t want to break up with me. I know it sounds absurd, a boyfriend breaking up with you just because he hates your family—  another thing he won’t admit—  but it’s happened to me already like, twice. Once when I was fifteen and had my first boyfriend, Kyle and again when I was sixteen and was dating a boy named Luigi.