The Real Oreo(Explained later)

God was never a teenager. Definitely never a teenage girl. Otherwise he’d never have created sex-crazed boys, stiletto heels, unfairly overpriced miniskirts or mothers, who for the sake of a stupid job, were prepared to make their only child move thousands of miles across the sea to some god forsaken little island.
I have nothing against islands or God for that matter. I mean they have their good points. Islands, for example, are surrounded by beaches where there is actual salt water to swim in. God, in a great stroke of genius, created chocolate, ice-cream and those cute little string bikinis. However, too much of a good thing can be bad for you. I mean you wouldn’t pig out on chocolate and ice-cream for a week and then think you can squeeze into your favourite bikini and take a stroll down to the community pool, would you? Well some people would but for their information: It is not a pretty sight. How would you like it if you looked up and got the impression that a giant blob of pudding was waddling past you in a very tight, pink thong bikini. Imagine my horror when I realized it was my math teacher. My male math teacher. Yuck!
Anyway I’m rambling. The point is: I do not want to move. At least not to Barbados. Barbados. What kind of name is Barbados anyway? It sounds like the person who named it was drunk and trying to attract a boat load of equally drunk barbarians. Barbadians, barbarians. Hello does no one other than me see that this is not a coincidence! What kind of mother moves her only child to a country- no an island- and island full of barbarians!! Mine obviously. Okay deep breaths, deep breaths. I am panicking. Proper barbarians do not have enough IQ between them to create an airport much less create a proper flight plan and I’m sure I at least made it here in one piece so that’s got to say something for them.
What am I worrying about anyway? Sooner or later mother will realize that island life is not for us. Probably sooner. Her friend’s car does not have air conditioning and even with the windows down we are being baked alive. It is that hot. Who wants to live not only on an island but an island furnace? Not me. And definitely not my mother. I’m serious the woman gets sunburn from taking a stroll in the park on a cool day in Canada.
But what does that all matter? What matters is the fact that my life is over! How could she do this to me? I love my mother really but sometimes I can’t understand her. Seriously I was just settling down in Canada and I had friends. Not good friends but people I could gossip with. Now I’ll have to talk to barbarians. Educated barbarians.