The Monstrous Troubles Of Tenth

• Phew. Tenth sure takes a lot from you. It’s been an appalling year fummi with my mum dissecting my life like a cockroach intestine (she’s very brave you know!) and throwing fits whenever she catches a whiff of the word ‘boy’. She’s got her hopes pinned on me (obviously!) and all that sob stuff but seriously tenth to me reads like Terribly Excruciatingly Nutty Torture for Humans. When I’m done, of course, I’ll put up my button-shaped nose and snigger at all those poor devils who have to burn the midnight oil because their parents want them too. Bully for parents!
  My mums the dragon (obviously!) with numerous heads all pouring fire and steam. Since I’ve become a teen, I can’t do anything right.
  I can’t dress right. My hair resembles the kitchen when my dad tries (and fails miserably) to whip up something supposedly edible. Me opening my mouth (oozing magnificence with its yellow teeth and pink tongue) is the cue for her to shudder and yell ‘watch your language!’ my shampoo isn’t right (your hair stinks!). My music is garbage (you call that singing? It sounds like you shrieking and wolves howling!). And the films I adore evoke feelings of utmost horror (she’s pregnant and not married? Shut that down!). The elite (read girls with slender figures and fair skin) are completely unworthy of my society. Gawky nerds with enormous glasses are suddenly desirable (‘she’s so nice’ is the phrase used to describe Miss scrawny-knees-and-glinting braces). My room bears a striking similarity to the remnants of a particularly devastating hurricane. Oh well.
  
  I recently managed (after FOURTEEN years of extreme hardship) to finally determine what mums really want from their teenaged daughters and the results are, predictably, highly un-encouraging.
  
• Wear a particularly-tight-and-hideously-coloured hair-band that puts the existence of your hair in severe jeopardy.
• Wear clothes that went out of fashion half-a-century ago so that you’re the ridiculed till your dying day about your baggy pants and mismatched socks.
• Nod vigorously every time the astounded-and-baffled teacher opens her mouth to indicate that even her pink-cardigan adorned hair meets your uncensored approval.
• Refrain (how?) from falling asleep when your history teacher suddenly starts mumbling to herself about Vietnam troops and printing presses.
• Religiously remind all your friends the importance of possessing colossal glasses and a pimply face so that you’re kicked out of their group with instantaneous haste.
• Survive the entire year on allegedly nutritious food that tastes like an amalgamation of your smelliest socks and pig breath.
  
  Cheers to life after tenth standard.
  Leaving you all to ponder on my tedious compilation.
  Loads of love and luck.
  Chocoholic