OCD, the Dude, and Me - By Lauren Roedy Vaughn Page 0,3

a shower. (Isn’t that wonderful? I mean, really.)

They both registered at Pottery Barn and Target. (Joyce told me that at Target they asked all kinds of questions about her registry, and she was forced to make it a bridal registry, and so she had to make up the name of her fiancé, and she gave the name of a super-famous movie star that she has had a mad crush on forever, but I won’t out that here because Aunt Joyce’s decade-long fantasy crush is her business, and she played all coy when the salesgirl asked if it “was the real so-and-so” and the salesgirl got all excited because my aunt wouldn’t deny the veracity of the claim, but how silly, because why would a movie star’s wife-to-be register at Target? Please.)

Anyway, the party was at my house, and the women in my family love a good garden party. My aunt put my hair up in a Gibson girl–style, and, for a change, I felt very sophisticated out in actual life. Mom bought out every florist shop in Los Angeles to decorate, and she ordered three large ice sculptures for the backyard. Stunning. The hummingbirds my mom knows and loves (she actually names them) were out in full force, and they were the background music of the day. We had afternoon tea, played charades and croquet, and watched Joyce and Karen open presents in the backyard garden of my house. Just writing about the day makes me feel light as air. (That feeling rarely happens to me.)

I may be single my whole life, but my aunt will help me cope with whatever I become. Aunt Joyce and her shower are wonderful!

Teacher comments: Don’t use profanity—ever—in these essays. You are lucky to have Aunt Joyce.

*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 10/5

Essay #3: Free Write

(What I, of course, do not turn in, and in fact, plan to hide immediately in my me-moir binder, lock checked multiple times.)

Danielle Levine

English 12

Ms. Harrison

Period 4

A “free-write essay” this early in the year? Really? Giving a free-write essay is a total cop-out for a teacher. Ms. Harrison has a poster on her wall that says, “Always give your best effort.” Apparently, her posters don’t apply to her. Very irritating. But I’m even more irritated that she made us write down on a piece of paper the name of one person who we would like to room with on the school trip to England. I wanted to write “FU” in really big letters on my slip and see if she got the point. Then I wanted to write “Jacob Kingston,” which is the truth, but if I wrote it instead of just thinking it, I’m sure Ms. Harrison would refer me to the school psychologist and then call my parents because I didn’t have the good sense to know that I couldn’t room with a boy. And then I’d want to scream: I’M BEING FACETIOUS, YOU IDIOTS. DON’T YOU GET IT?! NEVER IN MY LIFE WILL I EVER SLEEP WITH A BOY LIKE JACOB KINGSTON. I just spilled my soda all over my already messy but expensive antique desk! (I hid under a pile of fresh laundry for a minute to prevent a panic attack, which I did, good job. I’ve emerged and can write again.)

Instead, I just wrote on the slip: no one will want to room with me. And then I know I sound like a whiny victim, but it is true. Any name I might write on that slip of paper will be tantamount to disappointment. I am anathema to everyone in my class. On the drive home up into the hills of my landscaped neighborhood, I thought about how messy this whole situation is, and I had a big talk with myself, out loud, about how bad this trip is for me. There is no way I can conceive of doing all the things I like to do on trips to England while I’m with the kids in my class. I will be taunted right off the planet if I ask for a moment to go get a snow globe or some sepia-toned postcards or spout Shakespeare aloud while strolling through Stratford-upon-Avon dressed as Ophelia. OMG, but I’m starting to hyperventilate just writing that.

When I got home and told my parents that I absolutely don’t want to go on this trip, they said I have to, especially since they told the school that they would pay for a student who couldn’t afford to go. I told them to save