OCD, the Dude, and Me - By Lauren Roedy Vaughn Page 0,6

that dress is incredible and so weird at the same time,” he got fake blood all over my aunt’s hard work. Also, after that, people thought I was the bride of Frankenstein. Not an image I want following me throughout the year. It was horrible. I’d like to end this essay with a plea. PLEA-se, let’s not have any more dress-up days at school. Thank you.

Disappointing teacher comments: This is not an academic essay. It is a rant.

*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 11/11

Essay #5: My Worst Day

(What I don’t turn in, but what is, indeed my second worst day ever.)

Danielle Levine

English 12

Ms. Harrison

Period 4

First off, Ms. Harrison, I don’t know how you came up with this essay topic, but I fear it is from the parent meeting you had on Friday that turned into the absolute worst day of my life. So maybe this essay title is a tribute to me and, in which case, you are a total bitch for using my pathetic life for your purposes so you don’t have to think of a really good essay subject like “Your Ideal Lover” or “Your Life After Plastic Surgery” or something really juicy like that.

My nearly worst day ever, not to be repeated, was the family night at school where Ms. Harrison and the principal gave a talk about the school trip to London. Everyone was there. Everyone. Even Jacob Kingston and that is why this day was really, really nearly the worst day of my life. The meeting started off fine with Ms. Harrison talking about all the things we would be doing on the trip (Big Ben, the Tate Modern, Westminster Abbey, etc.). And then Heather Hane’s mom, who is a hateful cow, asked Ms. Harrison how the roommates for London would be determined. (I roomed with Heather on last year’s trip to Canada.) Ms. Harrison explained that process to Heather’s mom about how the kids wrote down who they wanted to room with and she would take that under advisement, but then, ultimately, she would make the final decision about who would room with whom since she’s been coordinating the junior and senior trips for years now. This conversation followed, which I have since emblazoned in my memory, but not in any glorious way as the definition implies.

Heather’s mom: Well, last year my daughter did not get to room with who she wanted to, and it was quite uncomfortable and really ruined the trip for her.

Ms. Harrison: I’m sorry to hear that, but we don’t spend that much time in the rooms, and I think everyone is capable of getting along with his or her roommates, whoever they will be, for one short week.

Heather’s mom: I’m just saying that last year, Heather was pulled aside and asked if she would room with someone who she really didn’t want to room with and she did it, even though she didn’t want to, because she is a good person, and I just think that she served her time, and this year she should be able to room with someone who she wants to room with.

Ms. Harrison: You know, Mrs. Hane, I think we are going to have to talk about this at a different time.

Heather’s mom: We pay a lot of money for these trips, and I just don’t want my daughter to be miserable again this year.

My dad: Well, Mrs. Hane, last year I think my family paid for your daughter to go on the trip because you claimed financial hardship! So . . .

Principal: Dr. Levine, I think that is uncalled for . . .

Yeah, the principal stepped in to yell at my dad, but didn’t once step in to stop Mrs. Hane from ruining my life right then and there. I melted inside every time Mrs. Hane opened her mouth because the crowd was listening to her so intently. Even Sara, who had been crouched in the corner with a migraine, stood up to get every word of Ms. Hane’s complaint. I felt sorry for Ms. Harrison because I knew she was just trying to do her best, but most of all I felt sorry for me because I just wanted to die.

I didn’t know that Ms. Harrison had to beg Heather to room with me last year, and I didn’t know I had ruined her trip. I brought books and stayed quiet on purpose and didn’t talk to her unless she talked to me. I didn’t undress in front of her, so she didn’t see my fat,